


A Willow Before The Wind

by Fyre



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Complete, Japan, Japanese Mythology & Folklore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-03
Updated: 2012-12-19
Packaged: 2017-11-13 12:01:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 48,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/503344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fyre/pseuds/Fyre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When her village is threatened, Michiko finds that aid comes in an unexpected form. But there is a price to be paid.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Let me first of all say I love Japanese culture and mythology. The supernatural creatures and fairytales that come out of Japan are some of my favourite in the world. Plus just the depth and layers of culture that permeate society there. Love it. Love it to bits. The number of books I own on Japan's history/mythology/clothing/people is verging on the ridiculous.
> 
> And so, this story happened. I hope I do not disrespect anyone by doing this. 
> 
> Also, for those who wondered, Michiko means Beautiful, and an Oni is technically an ogre-like creature with tangled hair, claws, colourful skin and a tendency to badness, but they have changed from being monsters to being more like guardian spirits as time has gone on.

The wind rattled the shutters.

Summer came mercilessly even in the mountains. The rains fell heavily, turning small streams into rushing rivers, and the roar of the thunder set the floor trembling. 

Michiko stood in the doorway, gazing out into the garden. Though she was no longer a child, she clasped her hands over her belly, protecting herself from Raijin's hunger. She was so small, her father often said, that some might mistake her for a infant, and the Gods were not known for their attentiveness. 

"Close the shutter, Chiko-chan." Her aunt hurried over. "You know better than to court the attention of the Gods."

Michiko bowed her head obediently, swathes of black hair falling forward over her shoulders. "The storm must keep the army at bay," she said. "Surely, it would be too dangerous to cross the pass."

"Ha!" Her aunt ushered her back towards the table. "Men will do many foolish things, if they believe they can claim land and gold." She shook her head, her heavy grey hair swaying like silk. "The wells of our town are known to be filled with sake. Of course they will come. Better by summer storm than by winter snow."

Michiko chewed on her lower lip. Her father had gathered many councillors of the town and all of the warriors to meet in the lower chamber. Even now, she could hear the voices raised. She folded back her sleeve over her wrist and gazed at her hands. It was always so. The men would shout and unsheathe their katanas. They would argue and they would drink, and when all was said and done, they would call on her to sing for them, to calm their mood.

"Do you believe we can turn them away?" she asked, looking to her aunt.

Her father's sister's mouth drew up like a shrivelled plum. "They have numbers we do not," she said. The old woman often hobbled about around the men, ordering the maids and bringing food. They did not imagine that she would listen to what was said on her niece's behalf. 

"What of the Ronin?"

Her aunt snorted, settling her old bones on a cushion. "Give them coin and drink and they will be loyal as long as it lasts," she replied. "You know your father's coin as well as I do, child." Her black eyes gleamed. "Do you think it will last long enough?"

Michiko traced the the pattern on the sleeve of her kimono. It would never last. They had too few men, even with hired blades, and too little money to pay them. Their town was too small and too vulnerable, but the men would not allow it to be taken from them without a battle. Their deaths would not come easily and the women and children would be the reward for the victors.

She rose, walking across the tatami, the heavy silk of her robes rushing quietly on the floor. 

A crack of thunder shook the house beneath her feet. 

"I must go to the temple," she said quietly. "I would pray."

Her aunt gnashed her few teeth together and shook her head. "The Gods do not care for little wars, Chiko-chan. Pray if you will, but they will not help us."

Michiko looked at her gravely. "I shall try nonetheless."

The rain was still falling when she emerged. Her aunt bound up her robes and she slipped into her geta. The cobbles looked like the pebbles at the bottom of a fast-flowing stream. Michiko held up her waxed umbrella and hurried out, drawing her shawl close about her face. Her father would be displeased. She was not meant to leave the house, but her aunt would spin a tale and she would pray, and perhaps, the Gods would be generous. 

The temple stood empty ahead of her, the scent of the sandalwood and incense coiling about her as she stepped through the torii and into the grounds of the building. She paused there, bowing respectfully, then hurried onwards towards the shrine. A solitary bell tolled mournfully in the wind.

Despite the heavy warmth in the air, she shivered as she stepped beneath the curved roof. The rain pattered on, rattling across the tiles and dripping down the steps. Michiko closed her umbrella and propped it against one of the pillars of the shrine, then stepped carefully out of her geta onto the smooth stone.

Michiko took up the ladle, rinsing her hands and her mouth, then approached the shrine. 

The bell here was larger, heavier, silent.

She wrapped her hands around the ancient rope and rattled the bell. For good measure, she clapped her hands together twice, so sharply that her palms stang, then bowed her head and prayed to any Kami that might be kind enough to listen. She prayed for her village, her father, her family, her friends. She prayed that the enemies from over the mountains would not reach them, that the weather would drive them back, that they would be safe. She prayed, offering all that lay within her hands to offer, even tonsure.

The breeze whirled about her, making her shiver anew.

Perhaps the Gods were acknowledging her or perhaps it was only the wind.

The worst of the storm had abated when her voice wore thin and her throat was dry. Heavy sunlight broke through the dark clouds. Michiko emerged into the light, blinking hard against it. The world shone, as if freshly-washed, and she could hear the song of birds in the forest that framed the temple complex. 

Her father would not expect her to be abroad in sunlight. Her skin took colour too easily. Better to keep to the shade.

She put up her umbrella and skirted closer to the forest. There were paths there, stepping stones into a green and ripe world, and older shrines. Michiko hesitated. If she was to pray to the great Gods, then why not seek the attentions of the lesser Gods also?

The forest was dim, even in the bright daylight, the sunlight casting a thousand shades of green and gold through the high branches. The patterns upon the ground should be preserved, she knew, in silks and paint. Ladies in the highest courts of the land would vie for such beauty. Man could only recreate what nature and the Gods displayed for him.

Bamboo towered, thick and tall, and she wove her way deeper, following the broad, flat stones.

Tiny statues, carved rocks, even small waterfalls bore signs of prayer.

At each, Michiko paused, pressed her palms together about the handle of her umbrella, bowed her head.

Even the smallest of Kami were worthy of a prayer.

The path wove deeper and further until she found herself at the far side of the village. She felt a nervous flutter in her breast at the sight of the monkey guardians, placed at the north-east border to keep the Oni at bay. They were ancient statues, worn away by rain and wind from over the mountains. 

Michiko stepped between them, standing on the last stone that marked the edge of her home.

"Protect us," she whispered, raising her face to the sky.

Raindrops fell anew, pattering on her skin, and she drew the umbrella over her. The whisper of the rain on the leaves and the quiet rush of the nearby streams were her only companions as she hurried back, skirting the edge of the forest, towards her home. 

Her aunt met her at the door, ushering her in.

"You have not yet been called on, Chiko-chan," she whispered conspiratorially, "but they eat now, so they will call for you soon. Food then pretty girls and sake, if I know men."

Michiko wrinkled her nose. "I will sing for them if they are not too drunk," she said. "They become uncouth when they drink."

"Especially Hideo-kun?" Her aunt nudged her slyly. "You know your father and his have spoken."

Michiko felt her cheeks flush and lowered her head. "Spoken, yes," she said. "That is all."

"Ah," her aunt lamented. "You still long for a poet, heh?"

Michiko ignored her and hurried up the staircase to her chamber. It was true that Hideo was a handsome man, the tallest and strongest in all of the village. He had sent her a cordial letter through her father, declaring her beauty and acknowledging her love of the written word, but that was all it had been: cordial. There was no rhyme to it, no poetry. 

Michiko knew it was foolish to wish for such a thing. Their village was too small, and no man cared to write poetry when the harvest was hard upon them. 

She sat at her writing desk and gazed down at the fine papers her father had presented to her. He could not find a suitor who would be worthy of her in words, but he wished her to feel that she was worthy of the words herself. It was her secret love, above all things.

She took up her inkstone, a rich, dark brown, then her brush.

The words came easily: the distant thunder the voices of the soldiers, ignoring the gentle whisper of the rain bringing new life. Her eyes brimmed with tears that she brushed away quickly. It would not do to appear before her father's men wearing a mask of grief over a battle not yet lost.

She shed her outer robe, noticing the stains of the forest. Her father would know at once, when he saw it, that she had walked abroad without his leave. It was too late now. As much as he compelled her to obediance, he knew that her fate would fall in her hands. No man can guide the fall of the blossom, and so, no man can guide the will of a woman.

Michiko combed out her hair, letting it cascade down her back, then neatened her kimono. Her koto was resting in the main chamber already, for her father always summoned her to sing. She folded her hands in her lap, calm and patient, and waited. 

The sun was beginning its descent when her aunt peered around the door, beckoning her, palm-down. "Your father calls you," she whispered. She looked worried. "He would not allow me into the room. I think there is something wrong, Chiko-chan."

Michiko trembled. Her aunt seldom worried, even in the face of war. "Am I to sing?" she asked.

"I cannot say," her aunt said, smoothing her sleeves and drawing twin strands of hair down to frame her face. "But you must go quickly."

Michiko hurried down the wooden stairs and knelt at the door. The forbidden shadow of war had been settled upon them too long for her to fear it, but this was something new. She took a shivering breath, then put her fingertips to the door and slid it open. 

All eyes in the room turned to her, which gave her pause. Normally, they did not pay heed to her until she took up her koto. She lowered her lashes, rose and stepped lightly into the room, then knelt again to close the door. She could feel each eye upon her. 

Her aunt was right.

Something was wrong.

She could feel her heart beat quicken beneath her obi, but did her utmost not to show her concern as she rose and approached her father. Her hands were clasped modestly before her. “I am here, otosama.”

“Ah!” An unfamiliar voice spoke, bright and mocking. “The pious little daughter.” The speaker laughed, a chilling sound, sharp and cruel. “You told me you had no child, Yamada, and yet, I see one before us.”

It was improper to look at one’s guests, but Michiko could not help but look up, to see who disrespected her father within his own home. She caught a glimpse of tiger fur, and dark hide, as her eyes rose. 

Michiko fell back with a small cry of alarm.

The creature crouched beside her father smiled at her terror. His face was scaled. It seemed to shift between gold and green like the hide of a lizard. His teeth were sharp fangs, and from his tangled, curled hair, she could see two horns emerging.

An oni.

She darted a look at her father. His face was pale as snow, and his hands closed fast about the sheath of his katana. It was the demon, not he, who had summoned her hence. The demon who called her pious.

Michiko wished she could cry out or sob, but it was her doing. The oni had approached on her invitation, when she stood at the boundaries. She pressed her hand to the tatami and rose back onto her knees. She was shaking, but she arranged her sleeves upon her knees and folded her hands one upon the other. 

“Oni-sama,” she said, bowing her head in a proper show of respect.

He laughed again, a gleeful, wicked sound. “Oni-sama?” She heard him clapping his clawed hands together. “A title that becomes me, at last.” The air felt like it stirred and all at once, he was before her, one claw lifting her chin to his monstrous face. “Speak again, Chiko-chan.”

She stared back at him, a demon, and defiantly lifted her chin. “My name is Michiko, oni-sama,” she said. “I do not know you.”

He smiled like the tiger he was garbed in, revealing sharp and ugly teeth. “It is so, Chiko-chan,” he said, his face twisting in a sneer. “But I think you shall.” He rose suddenly, turning about the room. He had a great metal club in one hand, and he brought it up to rest upon his shoulder. “I can cast your enemies to the four winds. I can rend them limb from limb. Would you have me do this?”

There was a stunned silence, and a rush of whispers.

Michiko lowered her eyes as the demon walked this way and that. His toes were clawed as were his fingers, his skin scaled all over. Why had he come? She had asked for protection and now, he offered? Why?

She heard her father rise. “Your might would be a boon, oni-sama,” he said, though the words caught on his tongue. Michiko flinched. The demon would be able to hear, to sense her father’s anger and fear at the oni’s presence.

“A boon?” The oni circled around behind her. “No, no, no, Yamada. You misunderstand me.” His arm extended over Michiko’s body and he planted the end of his club on the floor before her, his claws curled around the top. “I am not here as a… kindness. I am bored. I would have blood.” His voice lowered to a growl. “What is it worth that I kill them instead of letting them kill you?”

Her father’s words caught in his throat. “We have little of value, oni-sama.”

She heard the demon hiss. “Lies, again, Yamada. Lies.”

Michiko looked up at her father. She had never seen him look so ill. 

“We have some little gold,” he offered, his voice shivering.

“What use have I for a shiny rock?” The oni laughed darkly. “I who can bring down mountains. I who can turn the storm upon itself. You think a handful of yellow rock will be enough to court my favour?” He moved so close that Michiko could feel the brush of his furs against the back of her kimono. She tightened one hand around the other. “My price is her.”

Her father’s eyes widened in horror and he stumbled a step. “My child?”

A clawed hand drew through Michiko’s hair. She forced herself to calm, stared straight ahead. “A fair price for a little town,” the oni said with a small, unpleasant laugh. “A little woman who prays to even the darkest of kami.”

“Chiko-chan…” Her father stared at her. He shook his head. “No. Get out. We will take our chances with our enemies.”

The oni tugged on Michiko’s hair enough to make her flinch, but she did not cry out. She was staring at her father’s ashen face. He and every other man in the room would die when the armies came, whether by the hand of their enemy or by their own hand. Many of the woman in the village would fall before their husbands, rather than their foe.

“As you wish,” the oni murmured, leaning down over her, his face so close that she could taste the bitter breath. “You asked, I offered, Chiko-chan. Give my regards to Shinigami.”

She was released and as suddenly as she was free, her father had her shoulders in his hands.

“No!” she cried, rising and turning. “Wait, oni-sama!”

The oni was at the door, fading into shadows, but at her voice he paused.

Michiko felt her father’s hand on her wrist, but shook it off and approached the oni. She had called upon anyone who might aid them, and aid had come. Each step felt like a thousand paces up a mountain, but she came close to him.

He watched her from deep, dark eyes. He did not smile nor laugh nor joke.

She bowed deeply, and rose slowly. “I will go with you, oni-sama.”

He gazed at her, and his mouth curved into a smile.

“Chiko-chan! No!” Hideo exclaimed. “I will not allow this!”

She did not turn nor look away from the oni. His eyes were gleaming, as if he wished to see what she would do or say. “Does the wind stop blowing when it strikes upon a mountain?” she asked quietly. “No. It will find a new path.” She bowed again. “I will go with him.”

Clawed fingers uncurled, tugging at the air. “It’s forever, Chiko-chan.” The oni’s gazed was fixed on her. 

She dared not look away. “My family and my village,” she said, her voice amazing her with its steadiness. “They will live?”

He bared his teeth. “And their enemies will be swallowed by the mountains,” he said. “You have my word.”

Michiko could feel the blood rush in her ears. “Then you have mine, oni-sama.” She bowed as low as she could. “I will go with you forever.”

“Chiko-chan,” her father whispered. “Chiko-chan, you cannot go with him. You cannot go with this demon.”

She reluctantly took her eyes from the oni to turn to her father. “Otosama,” she said, her mouth dry and her voice hoarse. She bowed as deeply to him as she had to the oni. “It is done. You shall be safe now.

She flinched when long fingers curled about her waist. 

The oni peered over her shoulder, smiling unpleasantly. “She is right, Yamada,” he said, pulling her back a step until she was pressed close to his body. She did not fight nor pull away. “One little girl has done what a thousand blades could not.”

Her father looked as one dead. “Chiko-chan…”

“Forgive me, otosama,” she said quietly.

The oni laughed again, the walls of the house ringing with it, and drew her with him. He did not allow her to take her geta even though the rain still fell and the cobbles were puddled. His claws held her fast and together - barefoot - they walked into the night.


	2. Chapter 2

The Gods walked in worlds that mortal men could not see. Oni were no Gods, but they too walked paths no man might look upon. 

At the very edge of her village, Michiko felt the oni's grip on her tighten as they stepped between the guardians. The moon-silvered world shivered and the shadows lengthened. The damp warmth of the air gave way to a chill that cut through her clothing and down to her bone. 

"Where are you taking me, oni-sama?" she whispered through chattering teeth.

He laughed, the sound like a scream in a world of silence. "You will see, Chiko-chan," he said, and leapt.

They did not fly. Such a thing was not possible. But the demon had strength unlike a man, and crossed the valleys and mountains in bounding steps. Michiko's breath clouded before her, brief swirls of mist between each wild leap, the air tearing at her face. Her eyes streamed and she shivered from the bitter cold of moving through the world between worlds. 

For an eternity, they moved. 

She saw glimpses of villages, fast-flowing rivers, pilgrims labouring along mountain paths. There were other demons and creatures too. Some saw them, some bared ugly fangs and shook heavy heads. A woman all in white, crouched on the last of the winter snow on a mountaintop, put her hand to her lips as they swept by. 

Michiko knew she should be afraid. She was but a mortal woman cast into a world of monsters and spirits and Gods. To look upon a monster gave the monster leave to look at her, yet she could not close her eyes nor turn away.

The stars whirled across a sky dark as a raven's wing. The blue seemed deeper than it had ever been when she had looked up at it from her father's house. She drew a breath at the sight of a shimmering woman outlined faintly in the sky. She was weaving, and looking with longing across the vastness of the heavens to a distant figure, who stood alone, leaning upon a herdsman's staff. 

"Tanabata-tsume," she whispered, her words carried away by the winds.

The oni said nothing. She could feel his sharp claws through her many-layered robes, and dared not speak to him lest he change his mind and release her to be dashed apart on the mountains below. His grip did not falter, and when he slowed, she found her feet set upon the ground with a gentleness that surprised her.

Michiko did not know where they were. They had travelled many miles through mountain and vale. All about them was forest, trees towering high and ancient towards the cloud-shrouded night sky. Nightbirds called from the darkness and the oni released her. He took up his club and set it upon his shoulder, then looked at her.

Michiko's breath quickened as the world warmed about her. Shadows drew back, and she knew that once more they walked where mortals trod.

The oni turned from her and walked between the trees.

Michiko followed on legs that trembled beneath her. She could feel sharp branches and roots, soft moss and dirt clinging to her bare feet. The land was wild, but there were cut flagstones below the wildness. Men had once tamed the forest, she realised, but long ago. 

Low branches caught on her clothing and tugged on her hair as she hastened after her master. The forest seemed to part before him. Not a branch touched him, nor did the warm breeze stir his tangled hair. This was his place, she realised. It knew him and bent before him.

The forest gave way abruptly to a place that must once have been a clearing, the trees younger but still tall. The shells of forgotten buildings emerged from tangled undergrowth. Some seemed almost intact until she looked closely and saw that only the facades remained, crumbled ruin heaped behind. 

Ahead of her, the oni waited in the shadow of a broken torii. One of the posts had rotted and cracked, leaving it tilted to one side. The gateway to the temple, she realised. He was leading her to the temple. It must have been his place when he was a mortal.

The buildings had been reclaimed by the forest. Roots tangled across the floor, and small creatures darted this way and that. 

Michiko stepped carefully, the moss-thick stone of the floor soft beneath her feet. The trees and broken roof deepened the darkness, and her eyes grew accustomed to it little by little. There were the remains of small shrines, fallen and cracked bells, shattered walls. The earth had shaken the temple and the people were gone.

Ahead, light flickered and she moved after her master.

The oni was crouched in the heart of the temple, a fire rising beneath his clawed hands. There was a low pit resting where the main shrine must have once stood, and that was where he laid his fire. He snapped dry twigs, dropping them into the growing flames. The crack of the sticks echoed about the ruins, loud in the silence.

Michiko approached him and knelt down a proper distance from him. She folded her hands in her lap and looked down at them. 

The oni said nothing, and she glanced at him from beneath her lashes. She could see a rime of frost crisp on his furs, still shimmering on his scaled skin. The walk between the worlds, it seemed, was not suited to him any more than it was to her. 

"You will fetch water," he said abruptly, once all his sticks were spent. "There is a well. You shall prepare meals. You shall tend to the temple, such as it is."

Michiko lowered her eyes. "As you say, oni-sama."

"Ha!" He slapped one clawed hand against his bare thigh. "Still oni-sama? Even when there is none to see it?"

Michiko raised her eyes to him. "If you wish to be accorded respect," she said quietly, "then you must accord respect, oni-sama."

He leaned closer, the flames glittering in his eyes. "Even to those who do not deserve or return it?" he said, his cruel fangs bared and sharp. He wished to frighten her. She was afraid. He was a demon after all. Only a fool would not fear one so powerful. Whether she allowed that fear to smother her was another matter. 

She bowed her head politely, lowering her eyes. "To those, more than ever, oni-sama," she said. "A woman has little strength in her body, but she might show the strength of her spirit by honouring all those to whom she speaks."

He snorted, sinking back to sit cross-legged by the fire. "You have a clever tongue in your head, Chiko-chan," he said. She looked up, startled at his words. "Beware using it unwisely," he continued with an unpleasant smile, "some would consider a witty tongue a delicacy."

Her hand leapt to her mouth despite herself. She forced it back down. "Yes, oni-sama," she said, knotting her hands together.

He laughed, a shrill, mocking sound. Michiko looked up at him. "That was a jest, Chiko-chan," he said, grinning. Every fang in his head was visible, the light from the fire casting them in red and gold. It looked like blood, she thought. "Nothing more."

She stared at him. A jest? "A-as you say, oni-sama." 

He looked delighted with himself and nodded. "And I do say," he said. He flicked his fingers, as if brushing a fly from his furs. "Enough talk. Sleep now," he said. "You will be little use otherwise."

She glanced about the temple, uncertain. "Where am I to sleep, oni-sama?"

His dark eyes surveyed her. "Where you wish, Chiko-chan," he said, then chuckled darkly, "but ware of the kitsune. They will whisper and tug your hair if you sleep too close to their dens." 

He waved her away again and turned his gaze to the fire, holding out clawed hands. The flames danced beneath his fingers threads tugged by a spinner’s fingers.

Michiko rose, reluctant to leave the warmth of the fire. Though the night was warm, there was safety in closeness to the flame. It kept the wild creatures at bay, though it seemed to enchant the demon. He paid her no mind as she walked softly across the the hall, seeking out some place to lay her head.

It was only a blessing that the ground was dry, sheltered in part by the trees sprouted through the ruins. Narrow slivers of moonlight threaded between the leaves, casting the world in ghostly blue as her eyes adjusted to the darkness.

A shrine, broken and forgotten, lay ahead of her. 

Michiko approached and knelt on the moss. Leaves and broken branches smothered the shrine. She pulled each branch free and brushed the leaves aside. Even if the temple was forgotten, she knew there was no reason to neglect the Kami who would now surround her. They were strangers, as she was to them.

She closed her eyes against the tears that sought to fall.

It was true that she had saved her village, but she was lost to her kin. She would not lay offerings at her ancestors tombs nor light candles for them upon the river again. Her hands trembled on the lip of the shrine, the ancient wood soft beneath her palms, and she folded down with grief. A single sob found freedom as she pressed her brow down to her knees. The tears were hot on her cheeks.

She could not say how long she curled there, but once her courage returned, she drew herself up and struck the tears from her cheeks. She clapped her hands twice, calling the attention of any Kami that might hear, and when she prayed, it was for the courage to make her family proud.

If she whispered a prayer that her ancestors might know of her whereabouts, it was a vain and desperate hope. She was too far from the lands where their bones lay and their blood had been spent. 

A soft sound roused her from her prayer.

Michiko turned her head, startled, and found bright eyes gazing at her. It was not the oni, for he would not have approached her so silently. It was smaller, something hidden in shadow. Michiko’s heart drummed wildly.

“Excuse me,” she murmured, bowing her head. “I did not mean to intrude.”

The creature crept forward, and even in the silver moonlight, the fur gleamed red-brown: a fox. Michiko hesitated, then uncurled one hand, offering it out. The fox stared at her, still as stone, then put forth its nose and sniffed at her fingers.

Michiko smiled as it licked her fingertips. “Thank you, Kitsune-san,” she said softly. “It is very kind of you to greet me.” She looked around the remains of the building. “Oni-sama said that you had a den here. I should not disturb you.” She looked at the fox. “Will you show me where I might sleep?”

The fox barked, darting away. It paused in a nearby doorway. Michiko smiled for the first time since her arrival at the forgotten temple. Her legs were stiff beneath her as she rose, and followed the fox.

Kitsune were known to mischievous, but she imagined that there was little mischief to be had in the ruins of a shrine. If it led her towards the forest, she could always turn back, and if there was danger, how much more terrible could it be than the oni?

The creature was waiting for her by a doorway, sitting patiently, its thick tail curled around its paws. It looked from her to the doorway and barked again. 

“Here, Kitsune-san?” she said. She looked at the doorway. It was blocked by a door, but the panel of wood slid easily aside, as if it had not been neglected. Within, there was a room that was more intact than any other part of the temple. The roof had been broken, but enough beams had fallen, when the building crumbled, that it created a sheltered chamber.

The fox bounded around her legs, padding in a circle on the dried moss that covered the floor as neatly as tatami. Michiko knelt, brushing her hands over it. It was as dry as the walls of the room, soft, even warm. 

“I am to sleep here, Kitsune-san?” The fox rolled onto its back on the moss, then sat up and looked at her in expectation. Michiko laughed in bewilderment. “Very well,” she said. She removed her outer kimono and spread it on the moss, then lay down upon it.

The fox waited until she lay still. It watched her for a moment, head to one side, then slunk closer and tucked itself against her body. It was warm and she could feel the small heart beating rapidly against her own chest.

Michiko put out a trembling hand and gently stroked the soft, thick fur. “Thank you, Kitsune-san,” she whispered. 

She did not imagine that she would find peaceful rest with her life turned upon itself. In the quiet of the temple that had been forgotten by men, with a kitsune her companion and an oni her Master, Michiko closed her eyes, and silently prayed for dreamless sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to put notes at the end of each chapter from here on in for new stuff that has shown up throughout the chapter. [Here are some for chapters one and two](http://amuseoffyre.tumblr.com/post/31112343710/a-willow-before-the-wind-notes).

Morning came gently upon the ruins.

Michiko was woken by the shrill of bird calls in the forest and sat up in alarm. It seemed she had slept well, for she did not feel any weariness, though it took her a moment to remember her place.

Strands of daylight were peeping through cracks in the beams and boulders above her. Her little chamber felt like the heart of a green jewel, bright and beautiful. For a moment, before the grief for her lost family and the memory of her new Master caught her mind, she drank it in with wonder.

It was but a moment.

A rustle beside the door drew her attention. The fox that had been her companion through the night was standing in the doorway. It looked at her with expectation, bright amber eyes gazing at her curiously.

“Will you guide me once more, Kitsune-san?” Michiko asked, rising to her feet. She left her outer kimono spread upon the ground. It felt right to mark a place, so she knew where she would rest when night came again. 

The fox barked. The sound was sharp and bright.

Michiko followed the creature out into the ruins of the temple. The fire that her Master had been watched had burned low but still glowed. There was no sign of the oni. She approached and knelt by the fire, gathering the remaining sticks over the dull flame to rekindle it.

“I am to make food and tea,” she informed the fox. “Will you help me?” The fox darted to her, scrambling into her lap, and she smiled. “Yes, Kitsune-san?”

To her surprise, the fox barked, as if it could understand.

Perhaps it could.

She did not know if all foxes had the ability to become human. Perhaps it was only very few, or perhaps it was only in particular circumstances. She pressed her cheek to the fox’s soft head and brushed one hand upon its back. 

“I am glad I am not alone,” she whispered to one tufted ear, before gently guiding the fox from her lap so she could rise.

The fox appeared to know the temple well, leading her to the well and then to a moss-edged casket, which contained sacks of rice and boxes of tea. It seemed that the oni did not go hungry for mortal food, at least. She had no notion what such a creature might eat, but rice was there, and so, rice he would have.

She was watching the rice cook over the fire, a cup of tea cradled between her hands, when her master was suddenly present. She did not hear him approach, only raised her eyes from the pot to find him sitting across the flames, watching her, as if he had been there all the time.

The cup trembled in Michiko’s hand. “Oni-sama,” she said, bowing her head.

The oni snorted, tapping his claws impatiently on the stone beneath him. “You found the well, I see.”

She set her cup down carefully beside her knee. “I did,” she said. “Would you like tea, oni-sama?”

He stared at her in silence for a moment, then inclined his head.

Michiko carefully poured the tea into a second cup. It was not a tea cup, but a small sake cup. He had several, though none was the same as the next. They were tributes, no doubt, offered to appease an angry oni. That he collected the delicate objects made her curious, for he did not seem to have any other treasures.

She rose as gracefully as she could, her legs stiffened by kneeling on stone, and circled the fire to approach him. Her master did not take his eyes from her, his brow creased as if he were confused by her behaviour.

Michiko hesitated for but a moment, then knelt and bowed her head, offering him the cup.

The oni plucked the cup from her hand with the claws of his forefinger and thumb, then waved her away with his other hand. Michiko retreated to the other side of the fire to her own tea, and to watch the rice.

The oni was silent for so long that she felt she must speak.

“Oni-sama?”

“Mm?” It was little more than a grunt.

Michiko looked up at him cautiously. “There was only rice in the chest. I do not mean to be troublesome, but I cannot cook where there is no food but rice. I fear that I would starve and be of little use to you.”

His reptilian eyes fixed on her and she lowered her gaze. “Ha,” he grumbled. “Little use indeed.” He waved a clawed hand about them. “Is this not a forest, Chiko-chan? Do plants not grow within it? Are you not of a farming village?”

“Not all that is a plant may be consumed,” she countered quietly. “Please, Oni-sama. If I am to provide you with good food, I must have provisions.”

He surged to his feet with a roar and Michiko shrank back from his wrath, shielding her face with her sleeve. As suddenly as he bellowed, there was silence and she lowered her arm to find him crouched beside her, his monstrous face so close, she could see each shimmering scale of his skin.

“Do you order me, Chiko-chan?” he growled, baring his fangs.

She shook her head, trembling. “I ask,” she whispered. “You ask me to cook, but rice will not suffice.” She clasped her shaking hands tightly together and bowed her head. “Please, Oni-sama, do not be angry. I only wish to cook well.”

His claw curled beneath her chin and lifted her face up. “Look at me.”

She raised her eyes, forcing down her fear. He had not harmed her. Indeed, he had neither struck nor shaken her in his rage, and when he had carried her across the mountains, she was held close and safe. “Yes, Oni-sama,” she said in a whisper.

He searched her face, his eyes so dark they were almost black, then grunted and released her, leaping across the fire to reclaim his cup.

Michiko drew a shaking breath, then knelt up to lift the rice pot from the flames. She set it upon the ground, and scooped sufficient to fill a small bowl for her master. He was watching her. She could tell without even daring to look. 

Swallowing hard, she rose, bearing the bowl of rice and the teapot, and circled the flames once more to kneel. She offered the bowl respectfully, cradled between her palms, and raised her eyes as he took it from her. He was gazing at her steadily, dark eyes aglow. 

“More tea,” he said abruptly.

Michiko lowered her eyes, pouring a fresh cup for him.

While he ate, she kept her eyes upon her hands, and only once the dish was set down did she venture to speak.

“Oni-sama, may I ask a question?”

“You already have,” he said with a snort, “but you may ask another.”

She looked up at him. “Does Tanabata-tsume always look so sad?”

The furrow in his lined brow deepened. “Tanabata-tsume?”

Michiko twisted her fingers together, lacing them like ribbons threaded through a fan. “I saw her look across the sky. She looked so sad.”

The demon stared at her. “What nonsense is this that you speak?” he demanded, setting aside his cup. 

Michiko looked at him, puzzled. “When you brought me here across the mountains. I saw the Shepherd and the Weaver looking to one another across the sky.” She stared at him, took in the bewilderment in his features. “You… did not see any of it?”

“Your imagination gets away with you, Chiko-chan,” he said, surly.

She lowered her eyes, dazed. “Perhaps it is so, Oni-sama,” she agreed in a whisper. She rose and returned to the other side of the fire, taking a bowl of rice for herself. It startled her how hungry she was and she ate as quickly as she could without seeming ill-mannered. 

The oni seemed agitated, and drummed his claws on the ground. He startled her by demanding sharply, “What else did you see?”

She covered her lips to swallow, then replied cautiously, “I think I saw Yuki-onna. We were moving so fast, I could not tell clearly. She was sitting on the last of the snow.”

The oni uncoiled onto his feet, pacing this way and that. “Pious little creature,” he muttered under his breath, as if it were a grievous offence. 

“Oni-sama?”

“You do the impossible,” he snarled, turning back on her. “You, a mere child born of man, make deals with monsters and see into the world of spirits and Gods. That is beyond the sight of we creatures bound to earth and fire.” He darted over and crouched before her, staring into her eyes intently. “Your piety is dangerous, Chiko-chan. You may look and see, but if you do, that means they shall also look back at you.”

She met his eyes, calm, steadily. “You looked at me. Are you dangerous to me?”

He inclined his head. “Perhaps,” he said. He hooked her chin with a curled finger, tilting her head back. “Be careful where you look, Chiko-chan. The spirits are not always kind. They do not always ask before they take.” There was a hardness in his voice that had not been there before, but he released her and straightened up. “I will return at nightfall.”

“As you say, Oni-sama,” Michiko murmured. 

He was gone before the words left her mouth.

Michiko touched her hands to her lips. He could not see all that she saw. It was terrifying to know there might be creatures more mighty and powerful than her master who might look upon her and seek to steal her away. It happened all too often, she knew. She heard of people being spirited away in nearby villages. Her father, at least, knew her fate and was not left to wonder at her absence. 

To divert herself from such troubling thought, she turned her attention back to the little food she had. She crafted nigiri, wrapping them in broad, flat leaves to keep their shape. Each one, she stacked neatly atop another within a deeper dish. It was cracked and worn, but it served its purpose.

She was on her knees by the small stream that ran near the temple’s sanctum, scrubbing at the rice pot with dried moss when she heard a twig snap underfoot nearby. She turned, wary, looking about, but all she could see in all directions was more forest.

“Is he gone?” A voice called out timidly, young and female. 

“He?”

“The oni?”

Michiko rested the pot against her knee. “I believe so,” she said, wondering who was lost so deep in the forest. “Who are you?”

A pale face peeped out from behind a nearby tree. It was surrounded by wild hair. “Do you not remember me?” the girl asked. She crept out, barefoot. Michiko looked at her in astonishment. The girl was wearing her outer kimono, though it was not belted, and she was naked beneath it. “I slept by your side last night.”

Michiko dropped the pot in surprise. “Kitsune-san?”

The girl giggled, darting closer and crouched down beside her. “My name is Aka, Michiko-sama,” she said, batting at Michiko’s sleeve. She smiled widely, revealing teeth that were white and sharp. “Thank you for being kind to me.”

Michiko could not help but smile. “You were kind to me also, Aka-san,” she said, retrieving her pot. She rose from the bank of the stream. “Would you like a nigiri? It is only plain rice, I am afraid.”

Aka nodded eagerly. “As long as the oni does not catch me,” she whispered, holding onto the end of Michiko’s sleeve. “He does not like to see us making dens in his temple. He will chase us out again.”

“Well, he is not here now,” Michiko said firmly, “and you shall be my guest.”

Aka widened her eyes until they were completely round. “Are you not afraid of the oni, Michiko-sama?”

“He traded for my servitude,” Michiko replied quietly. “I would do no good to him if I were damaged or useless.” She led the kitsune girl through the temple and back to the chest, where she had stored the nigiri. “Do you fear him?”

Aka nodded warily. “He is a terrible monster,” she said.

“So the tales say,” Michiko murmured, kneeling down to secure the pot and fetch the nigiri for the girl. Aka knelt down close beside her, the kimono spreading around her. Michiko could see the material shift behind her as if something living were trying to break free. She could not help but stare until Aka put her hands behind her and pressed down.

“I am sorry, Michiko-sama!” she said, blushing. “My tail.”

Michiko laughed. “You have a tail?”

Aka nodded eagerly. “I have two!” she said. “I am only little.”

Michiko could not contain her smile. “My oto-sama would hardly believe that I am walking in the realms of spirits and monsters and taking food with a kitsune,” she confessed, offering the leaf-wrapped nigiri. “When I woke in the morning yesterday, my only thought was of the coming war. Now, I am in a world that is nothing like that one.”

The kitsune took the nigiri, unwrapping it and nibbling the corner. “I think here is better than war,” she said, nodding earnestly. “War is frightening.”

“It is,” Michiko agreed quietly. She looked around the forest that surrounded them, listened to the peaceful whisper of the wind in the trees. Her father would mourn her loss and she would miss him, but she knew that if she allowed it, this place would not be so terrible.

Aka curled up beside her and put her untidy head on Michiko’s shoulder. “I am glad you are here, Michiko-sama,” she whispered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kitsune - foxes, also commonly accepted to be shape-changers. 
> 
> Spiriting away - for anyone who hasn't seen the film Spirited Away, the spirit world is just to the side of mortality and can be stumbled into. When people disappear and no trace is found, even today they are referred to as Spirited away.
> 
> Spirit world - in Japanese mythology, oni and other more traditional Japanese beasties didn't get a look in at the spirit world. There's speculation that this is because the rise of incoming religions wanted to suppress the older, native ones, so new shiny ones get a spirit world, while Oni and demons are basically standing outside, with no way in. (This may or may not be significant)
> 
> Aka - the name means Red, because really, how could I not have Ruby as a Kitsune? :D
> 
> Sake cups - the rice wine is drunk out of tiny baby cups, maybe two inches tall at best. Sake was frequently left as a sacrifice to appease crotchetty demons.
> 
> Nigiri - basically, rice balls. Most popular light snack food ever. I've had 'em with all sorts in them, but you can get them just plain as well, which is what Michiko has done.


	4. Chapter 4

The summer rains were heavy in the oni's valley, heavier and warmer by far than the torrents that fell on Michiko's village.

In the ruins of the temple, she sought shelter to do her duties where she could in the oni's absence. He often roamed far throughout the day, returning as night fell in the expectation of food and warmth. The complex was vast, and Aka was quick to lead her to places that were both dry and warm. 

"Do you know all of these halls so well, Aka-chan?" Michiko asked as she built a small fire. They were sheltering on the stone platform which once must have housed a shrine, beneath a roof that was almost whole. The lower parts of the hall were bathed in shallow pools which rippled as raindrops dangled and fell from the leaves high above.

The kitsune scampered up a tilting pillar to fetch handfuls of ripe mushrooms that were clustered beneath the eaves of the roof. "I have lived here all of my life," she replied. Her bare toes curled against the faded red wood of the pillar as she trotted back down, her hands cascading with the mushrooms. She grinned happily, showing all her fine white teeth. "My obaasan says I am as curious as I should be."

Michiko hid a small smile. The kitsune knew the perils of crossing the oni, and hid herself in her fox form whenever he was present, but she followed Michiko everywhere when he was gone. She had never seen tea made nor rice cooked, and the very thought of food being prepared fascinated her.

Aka crouched down, laying her mushrooms out on the ground beside Michiko. "Can we use these, Michiko-sama?" she asked eagerly. "Will they be good?"

Michiko examined the tangled cluster. "I think we can," she said. "Oni-sama has left enough meat that we might cook with them."

In the days since her first request over the need for food, the oni had been reticent, grumbling loudly and angrily as he stormed about the temple. On the third day after her arrival, he returned late into the evening and threw a haunch of beef before her, grunting that if she could butcher it, they would have meat and she could silence her complaints.

Michiko had not expected anything but perhaps spices. Meat was a luxury her father had seldom allowed, and she bowed deeply. The oni snorted dismissively, waving her away, but when she had presented him with a hearty meal of stewed beef and vegetables with rice, he nodded in grudging approval. 

From that day forward, she found that the room that she had set aside as a store was added to daily. There were bags of rice and of noodles. Dried mushrooms and herbs hung on strings from broken beams. There were small jars of pickles of all shades and flavours. There were bottles of sweet oils with labels that marked them as from the capital.

When she tried to thank him for such generosity, he bared his teeth and scowled so darkly that she retreated at once. Instead of speaking gratitude, she prepared for him an infusion of sweet herbs said to calm the troubled mind and said no more of mortal appreciation. 

Aka sprawled down onto her belly on the ground, watching as Michiko fed the small fire patiently. "I do not like the rain," she said, rolling over onto her back, onto the long tangle of her hair. Ever since she had first shown herself in her human form, she had worn Michiko's outer kimono, and now, it was worn and stained, the pattern of flowers barely recognisable any longer.

"At least we have somewhere dry to shelter," Michiko said with a smile. "It must be much worse in the forest, where there are no roofs to rest beneath."

Aka pulled a face that was more suited to a child. "I miss play," she said. "You must never play in the rain, obaasan says. The rain hides the curtain between this world and the spirit world. It is easy to stumble through when you cannot see the curtain."

Michiko shook her head, stifling a quiet laugh. "I think your obaasan does not wish you to come back into your den soaked to the skin," she said.

Aka sat upright sharply, eyes aglow. "No," she said vehemently. "The spirit world takes those who do not pay heed, Michiko-sama! You must be very careful! Oni-sama is angry all the time, but if you were to be spirited away, he would cast all asunder! He does not like it when that which is his is stolen!" 

Michiko wondered at her words, for the kitsune were known to be mischief-makers, but Aka seemed in earnest and afraid of both the threat of the spirit world and the oni's fury. Her tails were quivering beneath her robe, and her body was taut as if she might flee. 

"I will be careful," Michiko promised soothingly. "Now come, Aka-chan. Will you cook with me?"

The kitsune's expression brightened. "Yes!" she exclaimed in the eager bark that spoke of her true nature.

Much of the afternoon was spent preparing food and Aka took great delight in pounding rice to make mochi. For all the savoury food that she had prepared, Michiko found herself missing the sweet red-bean stuffed treats. Aka sat, rapt with attentiveness, watching Michiko craft the small treats, laying them out in rows on a polished lacquered platter.

"They are so beautiful," Aka crooned wistfully. "Look how pretty they are!"

"Do you like mochi, Aka-chan?" Michiko asked, setting the last on the platter.

The kitsune rocked on her toes and nodded. "Obaasan sometimes fetches me some from the shrines in the villages," she confessed with a giggle, covering her mouth with her hands. "The people believe she will bring them good fortune, so they give her tofu and mochi!"

Michiko smiled. "Well, if she is your honoured obaasan, then I must pay my respects also," she said. "Fetch a bowl, and I shall give you some mochi and nigiri to take to her."

Aka's eyes widened so much that they were completely round. "You would share your food with us, Michiko-sama?"

"You have shared your company with me," Michiko replied. "It is only politeness to share my meals with you."

The fox-girl stared at her, then threw her arms around Michiko, nuzzling her head against Michiko's shoulder. "You are very kind to me, Michiko-sama!" She lifted her head and looked intently at her. "I will tell obaasan and obaasan will ask for fortune to be upon you."

There was a distant crash and Aka squeaked in alarm.

"He's back!"

"Quick," Michiko said, rising. "Fetch the bowl."

The kitsune darted to the chest, bringing back a small bowl. Michiko quickly piled several mochi into it and set two leaf-wrapped meat-stuffed nigiri on top. Aka looked around nervously, then fled off through the puddled courtyard to take refuge from the approaching oni.

Michiko arranged the remaining mochi neatly on the platter, then turned her attention back to the fire. She arranged a pot over the flames to boil up water for tea, knowing that the oni would wish to drink and scowl at her over the flames as he always did.

The demon prowled into the courtyard, his clawed feet casting up water as he stalked closer, his club propped against his shoulder. He was dripping, his hair lank about his face, but his mouth curved at the sight of her as he drew near.

"Ha!" He snorted, mounting the steps to the stone platform she was sitting on. "The lady elevates herself."

"It is wiser than catching a chill, Oni-sama," she said, rising to fetch tea from the small box she had carried with her. 

She scooped leaves into the small teapot, then returned to the fire. He had shaken himself off, shedding the tiger skin from over his shoulder to dry upon the stone floor. Her eyes widened in surprise, for he never disrobed so before her. Without the heavy skins, he was narrow-shouldered and lean, and his skin was patterned with the same scales that covered his limbs and face, though softer and paler across his belly down towards the loincloth he wore.

He snorted, making a sharp gesture with his clawed hand. "Am I a piece of calligraphy to be studied so?" he demanded in a growl.

Michiko felt her cheeks darken and lowered her eyes. "Your pardon, Oni-sama. I-I have not seen a man so before."

"Ha!" There was mirth in the sound. "I am no man, Chiko-chan."

She swallowed hard, her mouth dry, and knelt to make the tea. "As you say, Oni-sama," she whispered. Her hand trembled as she set the teapot down, and she was suddenly aware of the body close by her. He had circled the fire as quick as a heartbeat, and was crouched on his toes by her side. It pleased him, she knew, to startle and alarm her, so she schooled her expression to calmness, and tried to keep her eyes upon his face.

"Look, then," he said, his eyes gleaming. "You believe me a man, then look."

"Are you not, Oni-sama?" she asked, trembling. "Were you not...?"

"You think so?"

She nodded, wetting her lips with the tip of her tongue. "This is your place," she whispered. "Long ago, I think it was your place as a man."

The oni tilted his head, his eyes narrowing to slivers. One clawed fingertip lifted her chin. "What makes you think I was anything but that which I am, Chiko-chan?" he asked in a dangerous murmur.

She swallowed again. "Oni do not seek company of others," she whispered. "Men do. Men cannot live alone."

He dropped back to sit, frowning at her, one hand braced on his upraised knee. 

Michiko averted her eyes and filled the teapot, relieved his sudden hostility had faded as quickly as ever. She set the pot aside, then picked up the laquered platter and offered it to him. "Would you care for mochi, Oni-sama? I did not know if you would like sweetness."

With the claw of his middle finger, he skewered a single mochi. "I like sweetness well enough," he said gruffly. 

Michiko lowered her eyes with a small smile. "That is well, Oni-sama," she said, setting down the plate and pouring him a small cup filled with tea, which she offered carefully, balancing the rim between her forefingers and thumbs.

He scooped it from her hand with his claws, surveying her. "You do not fear me, do you, Chiko-chan?"

She poured her own small cup of tea. "I fear your anger, Oni-sama," she said, looking up at him, "but you have not harmed me." She bowed her head. "You allow me to be useful and you do not forbid me from walking where I will within these grounds. My father would not allow it to be so."

He snorted roughly. "Perhaps I should restrain you, heh?" he said. "Have you bound to one room alone?"

"Then you would find yourself going hungry, Oni-sama," she said, "for I cannot cook if I am not in the room with my fire or able to fetch water from the well."

He chuckled, a low, coarse sound, and held out his cup. "More."

She set down her own cup and refilled his. He seemed satisfied, so she took up her cup and picked up a piece of mochi. "Am I to be free from my chamber, then, Oni-sama?" she said with only the littlest piece of mischief in her tone. It was the kitsune's influence, she thought, making her bolder. "Or would you live on uncooked rice and dry tea?"

He waved a claw lazily. "If you must be, I suppose you must," he said, sprawling back to prop himself on one elbow, watching her. "It would be a waste to close you away, when there is so much food to be prepared."

She met his eyes with a small smile. "You are too kind, Oni-sama."

"Hungry, Chiko-chan," he corrected, baring his fangs in a tiger's grin. "I like to be fed."

"As you say, Oni-sama," she said, setting down her empty cup. She folded her hands in her lap, looking at them. "Oni-sama?"

He gave a great huff of breath that made the flames leap. "Questions, questions, questions. All I am greeted by is questions!"

"You need not answer, Oni-sama," she said, "but it is Tanabata soon."

His lazy expression became harder, and he sat up. "It is."

She turned her hands over against one another. "I have no ink to write my wish," she said.

He stared at her. "You do not have some brave lover who will try to come and claim you?" he said doubtfully. "It is auspicious, on the night of Tanabata after all."

She met his eyes. "I had no lover," she said. 

The oni propped his arm on his upraised knee, looking at her intently. "You lie."

"No, Oni-sama," she said quietly. 

"The boy," he said, eyes narrowing, "the tall one. He laid claim to you."

"I am no plot of land to be marked as his territory," Michiko said, lacing her fingers together. "He saw only my father's property and heard my father's name. He did not see me."

The oni grunted. "More fool him," he said. "It is the way with tall ones. The thoughts cannot always reach their heads. Too high."

To her surprise, Michiko laughed, then hastily covered her mouth with one hand.

"Fah! Do not do that!" the oni jerked his clawed hand in annoyance.

She flushed. "Laugh, Oni-sama?"

"Silence it," he retorted. "If you are happy, smile. If you are merry, laugh. None of this covering it all."

She stared at him. "But it is not proper."

His brows arched upwards. "You are an unwed maid in service of an oni in a kitsune-infested ruin of a temple," he said. "Who is to say what is proper?"

She bowed her head. "As you say, Oni-sama," she agreed, then raised her eyes to him, hesitating.

"Your question, Chiko-chan?"

"Ink, Oni-sama?" she asked cautiously. "I would write my wish. I have bamboo and some little parchment, but no ink."

"For a meaningless festival to one who has no lover?" He snorted again, sprawling back to laze on the slabs that framed the fire.

Michiko looked at her hands, then at his face. "Even one with no lover can make a wish," she said quietly. "Tanabata-tsume's beloved was far from her across the face of Heaven. My family are far away from me. Do you believe it is wrong to wish for their well-being?"

Some strange emotions swept across the oni's scaled face. "You would make a wish for your family?" 

She nodded, clasping her hands tightly together. "Would you make a wish also, Oni-sama?" she asked quietly.

He turned his face from her. "The Gods do not answer the wishes of one such as I," he said with a growl. "My pleas would fall on deaf ears as they always have."

He was not angry, that much she could see. There was a sadness in him, a deep and desperate sadness. 

She chewed her lower lip for a moment, but he was right. Proper manners had no place in a world of magic and wonders, not when the oni before her was saddened.

Michiko rose from her place and approached to kneel beside him, laying her hand gently on his bare shoulder. "I shall write a wish for you then," she said. "You say they will not listen to one such as you, but if I write, perhaps they shall." 

He turned his head to look at her, his brow creased and troubled. "Why would you do that, Chiko-chan? What cause have you for showing kindness to an old monster?"

She gazed at him. "You are no monster, Oni-sama," she said. "And I need no reason but that you are grieving." Her hand moved cautiously on his shoulder, a careful gesture of comfort, and he looked down at it, as if he could barely believe she dared to touch him. "Tanabata is a festival of joy. I do not wish to mourn, though my heart aches for my kin. Can I not wish away a little of our sadness for that day?"

The oni brought up his clawed hand to cover hers, and he inclined his head, gazing at her out of dark eyes that suddenly seemed much more human. "You shall have ink, Chiko-chan," he said, "You shall cast your wish and we shall feast and celebrate as if we were Orihime and Hikoboshi themselves."

She smiled then, truly, and for a moment, he smiled also.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Summary notes of Japanese things:  
> Mochi - little chewy balls of glutinous pounded rice, usually filled with red bean paste or something sweet. I've had caramel ice cream ones which were magic.
> 
> Obaasan - Grandmother. Yes, Granny is going to show up at some point.
> 
> Kitsune as troublemakers - Kitsune can be incredibly loyal to people who they consider friends/family, but not so to others. They may provide treats and nice things for friends but neglect to mention they stole them from next door.
> 
> Oni - can't recall if I mentioned, but this is relevant now: men could become Oni. Sort of like a curse :) And they usually haunted the place that had been their home in life, often protecting it from enemies.
> 
> Tanabata - the star festival of the two lovers (Wiki has a good article on it). Long story short, they can only see each other once a year. It's the Japanese equivalent of Valentine's with romantic stuff all over. But one of the traditions is that you write a wish and hang it from bamboo. At midnight, the wish-strung bamboo is cast into the river to carry the wishes away and if you're lucky, they may be granted. 
> 
> Orihime & Hikoboshi - these are the two lovers of the Tanabata legend, also known as Tanabata-Tsume and O-Tanabata-sama.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made an image to go with this :)  
> 

Tanabata came softly, with none other to celebrate it.

The rain ceased the day before, and by the time night fell, the sky was clear and the stars glittered bright as fireflies against the darkness of the heavens. The oni was as good as his word, bringing forth ink enough for her to copy all of the sutras a hundred times over. 

They had eaten well of a vast array of food he had brought, all manner of luxuries and sweet items she had never seen before. There was plenty left that she could share with Aka, when the kitsune dared to show her nose, but for now, the night of Tanabata was calling.

Michiko smoothed small scrolls of parchment upon the ground, the last scraps she had borne with her from her father’s house, and damped one of the ink stones. The ink was dark and rich, a deep shade of blue, which seemed auspicious for the night.

She carefully wrote her own wish, for her master, her family and her village, then pressed her hands together over it. If the Gods were kind, they would carry her good faith and well wishes to her home. Only then did she look to her master.

The oni was squatting by the flames, picking bark from twigs and flicking it into the heart of the fire. 

“Oni-sama?” she asked quietly. He grunted. She hesitated, then murmured, “What is it you wish for me to write?”

He lifted his head, but he did not look at her. His eyes fixed on some point far beyond her, and the twigs in his hands cracked and snapped in the stillness. He dropped the remains into the flames. “Kazuo,” he said.

It was a simple male name.

“Which manner?” she asked cautiously, uncertain which kanji to use.

He waved a clawed hand. “Whatever you choose,” he said, his voice curt and rough. “It has never been written.”

Michiko nodded, thinking for a moment, then putting brush to paper. The strokes flowed smooth and neat, and when she lifted the brush, she looked at her master.

He had risen from the fire and was pacing back and forth.

“It is done, Oni-sama.”

His claws tugged at the air and he stalked across the stone floor to her, staring down at the fragment of paper in her hand. He reached out convulsively, as if to tear it from her and rend it asunder, but pulled his hand back with a low growl.

“Foolishness,” he snarled, crouching back at the fire. “It is all foolishness. Gods are not kind and they do not listen.”

Michiko rose, holding the wishes in one hand. “Tonight is a night for joy, Oni-sama, and for hope,” she said, approaching him. She hesitated, then brushed her fingertips across the bare flesh of his shoulder, where it emerged from his tiger skin. He shivered as if chilled. “Will you come with me to the river?”

“What use?” he whispered to the flames. “What use?”

She spread her fingers and pressed her palm to his shoulder. His flesh was warm, almost too warm, to bear touching. He was a creature of fire and destruction, but he trembled when she touched him. “For hope, Oni-sama,” she said. “Please come with me.”

He looked up at her, and for a moment, she could see the man behind the demon’s claws and fangs, afraid and confused. He unfolded from the fireside, shaking unseen dust from his furs, and bared his fangs. “Let us wish, then, and to Enma with all those who defy us.”

Michiko lowered her eyes. “Perhaps,” she suggested mildly, “blaspheming is not the way to court the favour of the Gods.”

He wagged a clawed finger beneath her nose. “That was no blasphemy, Chiko-chan,” he said with a hollow laugh. “That was a curse.”

She looked at him with reproach. “A day of joy, Oni-sama,” she said. “No threats or curses.”

He bared his fangs again, but there was a gentleness in the gesture as he waved his hand in dismissal. “Fah on your joyful day,” he grunted. “Have we not shared a great feast and did I not give you ink for your words? There is only so much joy I can tolerate.”

She hid a small smile. “Forgive me, Oni-sama,” she said. “That was ungrateful of me.”

He huffed a great breath that shook the trees around them. “Come, come!” he said, waving his hand briskly. “To the river. Let us be done.”

They carried the bamboo to the river, binding the wishes to the long shaft of wood, and Michiko stepped back as the oni hurled the bamboo out into the water with all the strength in his arm. It was out of sight in moments, lost in the night-stained waters.

The oni stared after it, as if he regretted binding the name, the wish, to the bamboo. He was breathing heavily, trembling. 

Michiko watched him for a moment. Had she been distressed, he might not have noticed it, for it was not in his nature. She, however, could see he was troubled. No woman would ever approach a man in distress, but the oni said time and again that he was no man.

She approached him silently on her bare feet and slipped her hand into one of his clawed ones. It was the gesture of a child, a comfort being given by another, and she expected he would pull his hand free, but he did not. His fingers curled around hers, holding her tightly, almost to the point of pain.

“Why did you do that?” he asked, his voice raw.

She closed her hand around his. “It was your wish,” she said quietly. “Do you not want some little chance of happiness, Oni-sama?”

He was breathing hard through his teeth and looked at her. “What have I done to earn it?” he demanded. He tore his hand free from hers and stumbled back in the direction of the temple, crashing through branches and bushes in the darkness. 

Michiko hurried after him, unsurprised to find him crouched over the fire, rocking on his toes, his arms around his knees. He stared into the flames, and she could hear the low rumble of his growl even from a dozen paces away.

She approached him quietly, stepping over the furs that trailed behind him. He did not take words when they were given, but if she could show him that he was not as unworthy as he believed, then perhaps, he would understand.

It would be disgrace upon her, but she was already disgraced in the eyes of the world. She drew a trembling breath and knelt behind him, and put her arms around him. He tensed, like a cat about to spring upon a mouse, stiff and shivering.

“I am here, Oni-sama,” she whispered. “I am with you. I will give you my little happiness, if you will have it.”

His clawed hands trembled against her arms, as if he wished to push her away or pull her closer, and he could not decide which. “Chiko-chan,” he warned in a low growl.

She pressed her cheek between his shoulder blades, the tiger‘s fur coarse against her skin. “You were upon my wish,” she whispered. “You, my family and my village.” She felt his breath catch. “You are my kin now, Oni-sama.”

His growl turned to a soft, low whine and he pushed her arms apart, twisting about to look at her by the firelight, his features shadowed. “You are a foolish child, Chiko-chan,” he said with a sorrow that was wholly human. “A child bound to a monster.”

“You are no monster, Oni-sama,” she said softly.

He put his head to one side. “Cursed to walk between the mortal land and the spirit world, but not of either? Is that not a monster?” he asked, turning his gaze back to the flame. “What is an oni but a damned human soul?”

Michiko curled up beside him, wrapping her robe about her. “Something else,” she said quietly. “You are an oni, Oni-sama, but you are also a man.”

For a moment, his lips turned up in something that was not a smile. “Not any longer, Chiko-chan. That time is long-passed.”

Michiko put out her hands towards the flames, watching the fire flicker and dance between her fingers. The oni’s rage seemed gentled, less destructive than usual. It was to be a night for peace after all.

She glanced at him, then asked, “Who was Kazuo?”

The oni put his hand over the fire, drawing it up and making the flames leap and dance as if drawn up by threads. “A boy,” he said, his voice distant, as if he were not truly there with her at all. “Just a boy.”

She put her hands back to her lap, folding them upon one another. “Was it your name?”

He snorted, but it was quiet. “You think I would cast a wish for myself?”

She looked at his face, cast in dancing gold by the fire. “No,” she said quietly. He thought himself a beast and a monster, beyond the worthiness of the Gods. No man such as that would ever believe a wish written in their name would come to aught.

The oni tilted his hands and the flames moved again. “Look, Chiko-chan,” he murmured.

She looked and gasped in wonder. Tiny figures of people were crafted from the flames, dancing and whirling. They were less than a finger‘s length in height, but each was different from the next. “It’s beautiful, Oni-sama,” she whispered.

“You asked for a little joy for this night,” he said. “I can grant you that.”

Michiko’s eyes felt damp and she smiled, lowering her head. “Thank you, Oni-sama,” she said, her voice only a little shaken. She moved closer and leaned against his arm, the warmth of him penetrating her robe. “I am happy.”

Above them, the stars wheeled through the night sky and in the darkness Orihime and Hikoboshi met upon the bridge of Heaven.

With the dawn, Michiko woke alone by the long-dead fire. The oni was gone, but he had not left her uncaringly. His tiger skin was spread beneath her, the coarse warmth keeping her from the chill of the stone.

Michiko ran her hand across the fur wonderingly.

“Michiko-sama!”

Michiko rose, looking around. “Aka-chan?”

The kitsune emerged from behind a pillar, staring at her with wide dark eyes. “You have his scent on you, Michiko-sama,” she whispered, putting her hands to her nose. “He did not harm you?”

Michiko’s cheeks warmed and she lowered her head, hiding a smile. “No, he did not harm me,” she said softly. She offered her hands to the kitsune, who approached her cautiously, as if she might be wounded or ill. “I am well, Aka-chan. I am happy.”

Aka took her hands and stared at her, her brow rumpled, then she smiled. “You are,” she said happily, squeezing Michiko’s fingers. “Under his scent, I can smell it!”

Michiko blushed and giggled. It was foolishness to be made happy by her master’s kindness, but it was a pleasant foolishness. 

As days went by, with each evening she saw more of his tentative gentleness. He would sit and watch her as she composed waka. All at once, he was demanding that she read them aloud to him and soon upon that, he began scoffing when he felt he might compose better.

“I do not believe you,” she said haughtily, setting down her brush. “There is nothing wrong with the imagery. It befits the season.”

“Ha!” He slapped a clawed hand against his thigh in indignation. “The season! It is not the season that matters, but the turn of words against one another.”

She looked at him, then held out her brush in silent challenge.

The oni frowned at it. “What is that for?”

“If you can compose better, then show me,” she said.

He stared at the brush, then back at her, then scowled. “Such things are for children.” He turned away from her, prodding irritably at the fire.

She lowered the brush, watching him. Kazuo. The name that had never been written. A child he knew when he was a man. A name unwritten. He looked ashamed and discomfited and she understood. “If you will not write them,” she suggested, “perhaps speak them aloud?”

His dark eyes flicked to her face, and she could see his suspicion. He believed she was treating him with pity or contempt.

She smiled at him serenely. “I knew it. You are all air and no fire after all,” she said. “You say you can compose better, but when asked, you will not. I do not believe you can form a waka at all.”

He rose, approaching her, and crouched down to look her in the eyes. “The pine tree by the rock must have its memories too,” he said, his voice low and rumbling, “After a thousand years, see how its branches lean toward the ground.”

Michiko stared at him, her breath caught in her throat. “Oh,” she said weakly.

He wrinkled his nose and bared his teeth. “Words enough, Chiko-chan?”

She nodded, licking her lips nervously. She had not met anyone who could compose so effortlessly before, and with such imagery. Her heart was racing. It was a shock to know that the creature before her was able to create something of such simple beauty so suddenly.

He searched her face, as if puzzled by her expression, his own brow creased, then rocked back on his heels. “Enough,” he said, turning away. “No more words today.” He waved his hand. “Off with you. Sleep.”

She gathered her wits and her brushes. “Yes, Oni-sama,” she stammered, flustered, gathering her robe about her and hurrying away.

All the same, in the privacy of the chamber that had become hers, she smoothed a small piece of paper flat upon a rock and closed her eyes for a moment, remembering each phrase of his waka. She steadied her hand and wrote it upon the page in ink of deepest brown.

Michiko watched the ink dry.

Kindness and words. He had shown her both.

She put her trembling hands to her face. 

Such thoughts were foolish and impossible. He was an oni, a demon, a dark spirit of fire and horror, and yet, his company warmed her, his words drew smiles from her, and when he looked at her, she could almost believe he felt as she did.

“Enough,” she whispered, placing the waka on the low ledge on the wall. She lay on her side, her back to the scroll, and closed her eyes when Aka crept into the room.

“Michiko-sama?” she whispered. “May I stay?”

“Of course,” Michiko whispered.

The girl nestled against her back, wrapping an arm about her. “You are sad?”

“Not sad, Aka-chan,” Michiko whispered. “Not sad at all.”

Aka nuzzled her shoulder through her robe. “Not happy,” she said softly.

Michiko squeezed her hand. “Uncertain,” she replied just as softly.

The kitsune nibbled at her shoulder affectionately. “But you can be happy again?”

Michiko looked into the darkness, and slowly, she smiled. “I think I can be,” she said. She covered Aka’s hand with her own. “Rest, Aka-chan. Do not worry. I will be well.”

Aka smiled and licked her neck quickly, then nestled closer to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tanabata - I have mentioned this one before, but given how the chapter ended up, yup. Festival of the Big Forbidden Romance ;)  
> Kanji - Names in Japanese can be pronounced one way, but written in dozens of different ways, depending on the meaning you wish to use, which is why Michiko asked which version.  
> Enma - the equivalent of the God of the Dead. Japanese mythology can be quite complicated when it comes to death and religion.  
> Oni - again. Sorry. I'm playing a bit fast and loose with their mythology. I don't know if they would have had access to the spirit world, but for my purposes, they don't. As demons, they're earth-bound beasties.  
> Waka - the precursor to the haiku - a 5-line poem with the structure of syllables of 5/7/5/7/7
> 
> Sidenote: The poem that the Oni recites is shamelessly borrowed, since my own waka composition skills are somewhat limited. It was written by a famous poet of the Nara period called Ono no Komachi, but for the purposes of this fic, the Oni composed ;)


	6. Chapter 6

The summer heat was unrelenting.

In the shade of the forest, it was cooler than it might otherwise have been, but Michiko found herself shedding layers of her robes as a tree might cast leaves in autumn. Where it might have seemed improper in her village, she found that the kitsune's company had shifted her perceptions of propriety.

Aka would have happily bound around the temple in nothing but her skin, but she donned Michiko's outer robe for the simple reason that she saw that Michiko dressed, and so, she would dress also. Even so, the more clothing Michiko shed, the more Aka approved.

It was a sultry afternoon that found Michiko by the edge of the river. 

With such heat, many of the lower layers of her kimono were stained with sweat. The items she no longer wore, she washed first, beating them on rocks and rubbing them against a smooth boulder in hopes of washing away the worst of the stains. Knee-deep in the river, her arms and back ached as she twisted and rubbed the robes.

Aka hardly cared if her temporary clothing was stained. She shed it as soon as they approached the water, bounding into the chilly torrent and squealing.

"You should bathe, Michiko-sama!" she called, paddling halfway out to the river, the water up to her neck. "It will make you feel cool all over!"

"Perhaps later," Michiko called back, swirling the fabric in the water, then lifting it to examine it once more. 

When she had first arrived, there were five layers to her kimono, sleeves within sleeves, robes within robes. Now, she was down to a loose skirt of cloth, as she washed all that remained. There was one robe remaining in the room she slept in, which would warm her if the evening turned cool, but until then, it was easier to wear the strip of fabric wound from hips to knees, and have all the washing done at once.

With each that she washed, she called Aka back from the deeper parts of the water, and together, they would twist the fabric and squeeze the water out. There were branches enough to drape the washed clothing, and with the warmth in the air, as long as it did not rain, Michiko knew they would dry quickly enough.

When they were all washed and spread out on branches to dry, Michiko sat on the boulder, trailing her feet in the cool water. Aka had shifted into her animal form and was ducking and diving. She had already caught several fish in her jaws, carrying each back to land and tossing them in Michiko's empty basket.

The kitsune darted towards her and tugged on her makeshift skirt.

The invitation was clear.

Michiko hesitated, glancing around. The forest was deserted but for the kitsune and Michiko herself. She loosened the skirt, unwinding the fabric from her hips and folding it on the boulder, then waded out into the water. It rippled about her, the coolness refreshing on her bare skin, and she sank down, letting her hair sway upon the surface like duckweed.

Aka splashed towards her, in human form once more. “You look like an Amabie,” she said, laughing. “All hair!” Michiko pulled a face and flicked water at her. Aka squeaked, hiding behind her hands. "Will you catch fish, Michiko-sama?"

"I would not know how, Aka-chan," Michiko admitted, drawing her fingers through her hair. She sank down in the water, until it was up to her neck, and tilted her head back into the flow to let the water rush around her. It felt strange to feel so clean, after so many weeks in a place with no hot springs and dirt upon the floors.

Aka splashed closer. "I will teach you!" she said eagerly, batting at Michicko's arm. "Come! It will mean a great feast!"

"Not too deep, Aka-chan," Michiko cautioned. "I cannot swim as you can."

Aka clasped her hand. "I will keep you safe," she said eagerly, leading Michiko out further into the stream. The pebbled bed gave way to soft mud, casting up silt clouds, and Aka pulled her to a halt. "Stay very still," she instructed eagerly. "Let the water become clear again and then watch."

The water gradually ran clear around them, though the current was stronger than in the shallows. Michiko exclaimed in delight when a small silver fish darted around her legs, and Aka giggled. 

“We wait for the bigger ones,” she said. “More tasty.”

As the kitsune said, larger fish were soon darting around them as well, swimming against the current and upstream.

“Why do they go that way?” Michiko asked in a whisper. “It would be easier to swim with the water.”

Aka’s dark eyes widened and stared at her. “They want to go where all the best things are,” she said. “They know it is there. They can taste it in the water. And so they swim, even though it is difficult. There is a place of good food and safe places to have fish babies.”

“Many will be caught,” Michiko said softly. 

The kitsune nodded, her tails shifting slowly in the water. “Many,” she agreed. “But if they do not try to get there, then they will be trapped in a small place with no fish babies for all the other fish will eat them up.”

Sometimes, Michiko supposed, taking a risk was necessary for survival. 

She almost smiled as she thought it. 

What was she, if not a fish swimming against the current? She could have stayed in her place, let the water carry her, but she had not. She had pressed back and now, though she was far from her family and her home, she was in a place that made her feel safe and happy.

Aka moved her hand, pointing down.

A large fish, longer than her hand, was swimming up towards them.

“How do we catch it?” she breathed.

“Be quick and sure!” Aka said, making a grabbing motion with her hand. “Quick and sure!”

Michiko giggled nervously. “I will try,” she said, trying her utmost to remain still. Aka nodded as the fish came closer. Michiko grabbed down and all at once, there was a silt cloud again, something slippery in her hand and a shriek from Aka. Michiko tried to pull the fish up, only for Aka to submerge, and her leg to come up in Michiko’s grip.

Michiko released her, clasping her hands to her mouth.

The kitsune surface, sputtering. “That was not a fish!” she said indignantly.

“I did not mean to!” Michiko said, giggling helplessly at the look on the kitsune’s face. “I promise, Aka-chan! I was trying to catch the fish!”

Aka bared her teeth and lunged, catching Michiko around the waist and they both plunged under the water. Michiko lost her footing, and her cry of surprise was smothered when water flooded into her mouth.

Had Aka only released her then, she knew she could have caught herself, but the kitsune tugged her deeper still, and she felt the currents tear at her. She broke the surface long enough to catch a breath, and felt Aka’s hands slip from her grasp as she was swept away.

Near the temple, the river flowed gently, but it did not remain so. Michiko was buffeted by rocks and currents, struggling desperately to find the surface. She caught thin, desperate breaths before the water turned on her again, and she fought with all the strength in her limbs to find some anchor, to catch herself. 

Her hands snared a jagged rock, and she clung to it, dragging herself to the surface, panting and shaking. She could not hold long, she knew. The water was dragging at her legs and her arms ached as she tried to pull herself up.

“Oni-sama…” she managed to gasp out, praying he might hear, before a torrent wrapped around her and pulled her back under. 

The river was not kind nor gentle. It snared her with rocks and driftwood and she screamed in drowning silence when her hair tangled about something deep under the surface. The current dragged at her, and her hair tore, and the air was squeezing from her lungs.

Caught between the tangled hair and the current, she knew she could not surface again, darkness edging her vision. Her chest ached, but she struggled against the water, fought. It was not in her to give up, and she could not and would not relinquish her last breath easily.

She thought she imagined arms about her, warm and solid, as the blackness closed upon her, when all at once there was lightness and coldness and air. She was dragged from the water, coughing and shivering as she was laid on rough moss.

Each breath was sweeter than the last and she turned her face towards a warm touch, Claws gently dragged her hair back from her face, and a coarse palm pressed to her cheek. “Chiko-chan?”

Michiko turned onto her side, retching up bitter water. She was shaking. “O-Oni-sama?” A flood of shame overcame her, as she realised that she was naked before him, and she folded her body tight upon itself to hide her maiden’s parts. “F-forgive me.”

“Hush, Chiko-chan, hush,” he growled. His tiger skin - dry and warm - was wrapped around her, and his arms followed. Through the hide, she could feel the heat of his skin and she trembled as tears broke from her eyes.

It was folly to weep.

It was folly, but she had been so close to death that she had tasted the breath of Enma, and now, she was alive, and the air was sweet and the oni had saved her.

“Thank you, Oni-sama,” she whispered. Her voice sounded like that of a stranger, hoarse and rasping.

He cradled her carefully in his arms. “Home,” he declared gruffly, rising. She nodded, raising her trembling arms to hold fast to him. He was so warm, and she felt so cold. She buried her face in his neck and clung to him tightly as he leapt.

The temple was still and silent, and he carried her straight to the fire, which leapt up at his approach. Michiko’s arms slipped from his shoulders, too heavy to hold in place any longer. Her whole body ached and she whimpered as he set her gently upon the ground.

“You are hurt,” he observed, lifting her face with his hand again.

She stared at him, his face so close, his eyes searching hers. “A-am I?”

He nodded, his fingers brushing her hair and coming away bloodied. “You are.” He looked around impatiently, then back at her. “Rest here, Chiko-chan. I shall fetch some linens and medicines for you.”

Before she could speak, he was gone, and she stared blankly at the spot where he had been.

She did not know how he could have found her, but he had. He had found her and saved her, drawn her from the water that would have been her end. She shivered, cold to the bone, and brought up her hands to draw his furs tight about her. Even though the fire danced, she felt cold and she gasped when she saw her hands.

They must have caught upon the rocks.

Each finger was torn and still bleeding, her nails cracked and broken.

It took courage to open the furs, to look down and see what other damage had been wrought upon her. She was all over bruises and cuts, and only when she leaned forward to look did she notice that her hair fell forward also. It had been hacked off, short now, barely longer than her shoulders. To free her, he had cut her loose.

Michiko trembled, wrapping herself once more. 

Death’s threshold had been too close.

The oni returned as abruptly as he was gone, a chest in his hands, and knelt beside her. “You must uncover yourself,” he said, averting his eyes. “I must check that there is nothing lodged in the wounds before I bind them.”

She nodded mutely. “I-I am very cold, Oni-sama,” she whispered.

He looked at her, worry etched upon his face. “Would you have tea, Chiko-chan? It would warm you.”

“As you say, Oni-sama,” she whispered. She could feel hot tears on her cold cheeks again. It felt like they were burning tracks into her skin. The oni made a low sound of distress in his throat, edging closer to her and drawing her against his chest, his warm hand brushing the tears from her face.

“You are safe, Chiko-chan,” he murmured, the low growl rumbling beneath his words. “You shall not come to any harm.”

“Thank you, Oni-sama,” she breathed, letting his closeness warm her. One of her hands pressed to his wrist, and she shivered at the heat that coursed from the contact. He did not protest, nor complain, only holding her until she drew away and leaned towards the fire.

He moved about, here and there, though she paid him no mind. Her eyes were on the flames as they danced, and she only looked up when he knelt to offer her one of the small cups filled with steaming tea.

Michiko put out her hands to take it, but it slipped between her trembling fingers, and landed upon the stone floor. Michiko stared at it blankly, then at her hands that had betrayed her.

The oni picked the cup up carefully. The rim had cracked.

“I am sorry, Oni-sama,” she whispered.

He set it aside. “It is only a cup,” he said gruffly. He touched her cheek again lightly. She did not know if there were fresh tears or if he only wanted to comfort her. “I shall fetch another.”

He brought a bowl instead, and he did not hand it to her. 

Instead, he sat beside her, framing her body with his bare legs, and held the bowl that she might drink from it. It eased the chill that had worn her down to the bone. With little sips that burned her aching throat, she drank every drop.

The oni rubbed his cheek softly against her brow. “Your wounds, Chiko-chan.”

She nodded, lowering her eyes. She loosened the skin around her shoulders and lowered it to her waist, laying it about her hips to preserve her modesty. “My hair, Oni-sama,” she said quietly, aware of the absence of its heavy weight against her back.

“It was tangled in a fallen tree’s branches, on the river bed,” he said, using two fingers to draw loose strands back over her shoulder. He looked from her hair to her face. “It was your hair or your life.” He smoothed strands away from her scalp and she whimpered in pain as he pressed a medicine-soaked cloth to her head, where the flesh was torn. “Hair will grow back, Chiko-chan. You…” He gently dabbed at her scalp. “You would not.”

She stared sightlessly into the flames. “It was cold,” she whispered. “I did not think it would be cold.”

“When faced with death, it often is not what you expect,” he said. He had moved from her scalp to her throat and shoulders. The medicine on the linens stung sharply, and she bit her lower lip to keep from wincing with each careful touch.

For one so furious and dangerous, his gentleness startled her.

She watched him tend her arms, her hands, her chest, her feet, her legs. Though she looked as raw as fresh meat, he did not turn away in disgust. He touched her with all the reverence due a deity, without crudeness or cruelty. When he reached the skins that preserved her modesty, he raised his eyes to hers.

“If you wish, I can leave you to tend yourself,” he said, lowering his eyes.

Michiko looked at him. He was a demon and a death-bringer, so said all the tales. He was cruel and terrible and a monster, people would say. He had no kindness in him. He knew no gentleness. He would ravage and ruin any woman who crossed his path.

“I can barely lift my hand, Oni-sama,” she said quietly. “I cannot tend myself.”

He raised his eyes to her face. “Chiko-chan?”

She tugged the skins up with shaking hands, to draw them back around her shoulders, leaving herself bare to him, uncovering the ragged gouges where rocks had torn at her hips and lower, where splinters and bruises marred her thighs. 

“Please,” she whispered. “I cannot. Please.”

He met her eyes, then drew the knuckles of his cruelly-clawed hand gently down her cheek. “I will take care of you, Chiko-chan,” he murmured.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> General stuff from this chapter:  
> Amabie - a Japanese variant on the mermaid idea: a hair-covered water-sprite. Sounds like an otter to me :)  
> Nudity - before anyone flails on the fact that she's topless, breasts weren't seen as a big deal. That's a very much Western concept. In days gone by, the only parts that really needed to stay covered were the genitalia, and if people were by the water, they tended to just wear strips of cloth to cover those parts anyway. Japanese people regularly bathed en masse at hot springs as well, which involved nakedity. As long as they had enough towel to cover private-parts when they emerged, all was well.


	7. Chapter 7

The heavy warmth of summer rested upon the temple.

For the first time, Michiko was glad of it, for her fall in the river had left her weakened and ill, trembling as if with a constant chill. The oni brought her thick, quilted winter robes to wrap about herself, and kindled the fire to burn hot and strong all day. He no longer left the temple for the whole day. Instead, he prowled about the buildings, close at hand while she slumbered near the fire.

It was no grave illness, but she coughed often and there was a sharp pain in her chest that concerned him.

The water, he informed her, had touched places it should not have within her body, and that was what caused the pain. It would heal, but as with the physical wounds that left her bruised and bloodied, there was little she could do but wait. 

The oni did not sleep, but when the nights turned cooler after the sun set, and when the fire burned lower, she would turn back the blankets that covered her and wordlessly invite him to warm her. He would wind about her, as close as a shadow, his arm a second skin to hers, his legs curving behind her own, the heat of his flesh easing the iciness in her bones even through the layers of robes. He did not sleep, but the low rumble of his breath in his chest echoed in her dreams.

Each morning, she would wake to a bowl of tea laced with medicine to ease her cough. He would check her wounds were healing and touch a hand to her brow to be sure her fever was easing. 

It was four days before he declared her well enough to rise from her sickbed. Her legs shook beneath her, and she ached to the bone, but she insisted he help her walk to the courtyard to sit in the sunlight for a time. The oni put his arm about her waist, his other hand holding hers to steady her.

He helped her to sit on the stone steps in a patch of sunlight. Uncaring of any colour she might gain, she turned her face up to the sun, letting it warm her. The oni drew her hair back gently with his claws, and she could feel his eyes upon her, dark with concern.

"You are still weak, Chiko-chan," he said sternly. "You must not weary yourself."

"As you say, Oni-sama," she murmured, spreading her hands in her lap. The sun felt beautifully warm. She looked towards him. "Oni-sama, my friend. Aka-chan. Has she come back?"

The oni's grim face would have rivalled that of Yama. "She has not," he snarled. "The creature would have killed you."

"The river would have killed me," Michiko murmured, putting out her hand and closing it over his. "Aka-chan only played. She did not mean to harm me."

He scowled darkly. "Intent is meaningless."

She lifted his hand over to her lap, clasping it between her own. "Do not harm her, Oni-sama," she said. It still hurt her throat to speak, so she spoke only shortly. "She is my friend."

"She is a thoughtless, careless little animal," he snapped.

Michiko withdrew her hand from his. "You will not harm her, Oni-sama." She looked at him. "She is young. If you claim you have never caused harm to another in clumsiness or folly, I will not believe you."

The oni turned his face away from her, his expression anguished. He rose abruptly, walking back into the shade of the temple. "I will not harm her," he growled out suddenly, and was gone.

Despite the warmth of the sun, Michiko shivered at his sudden absence. She drew the warm winter robe closer about her and closed her eyes against the sunlight. Her exhaustion scared her. She had never felt so drained, and facing a furious oni was not something she knew she was capable of in her weakened state.

Michiko lowered her head to rest her chin upon her breast. It felt too wearying to raise it, and she could hear the rasp of her breath within her ribs.

To think that only days ago, her only concern was that she might burn the rice.

She breathed in as deeply as she could and exhaled. Her head felt light with each indrawn breath, but it hurt less now than it had. The air tasted different. It smelled different. It was as if the whole world had sharpened around her, as if she had spent her whole life looking through a fine paper screen, and now, she was seeing the world as it truly was in all its clarity.

She must have drifted to sleep, for the next she knew, she was back upon the matting and blankets by the fire. Michiko pushed herself up onto her arm, brushing her hand over her eyes. Beyond the walls of the shrine, night had fallen and rain was pattering quietly on the ground.

The oni was sitting on the opposite side of the fire, his hands resting on his upraised knees, staring into the heart of the flames. He glanced up at her, then back down at the fire. "You are awake, then."

"As you say, Oni-sama," she murmured. It took effort to sit up, her hands aching from bracing her weight on them. "I slept again?"

"Healing," the oni said, rocking on his toes. "Rest is helpful."

She nodded, putting her hand to her belly when it growled. "May I eat, Oni-sama?"

He unfolded wordlessly, stalking towards the chest of dishes. He returned a moment later with a bowl, then pulled a pot out of the fire. Steam roiled out as he pulled the lid off, and the scent of meat and spices made her mouth water. It was four days since she had been allowed anything but soup and lightly spiced tofu.

He circled the fire and crouched down beside her, offering her the small bowl. She took it eagerly, all but snatching the chopsticks from his hand. "Eat slowly," he warned. "Or you will be ill."

"Yes, Oni-sama," she said indistinctly, scooping some into her mouth. It was rich, and she could pick out a dozen different flavours. She was so astonished by the layers of flavour that she let it sit upon her tongue, letting it fill her senses. When she finally swallowed, the warmth followed the food right down to her belly. 

The oni was watching her intently. “It displeases you?”

Michiko shook her head. “It is strange,” she confessed. “I taste much more than I did.”

His brow furrowed. “Is it only taste?”

“No, Oni-sama,” she admitted. “I see more clearly, hear more sharply.”

He sat down by her, studying her. “Coming so close to death must have awakened your senses even more,” he said, tilting his head to one side to examine her. “It may fade in time. It is not unbearable?”

She plucked some more food from her bowl, grateful her hands were not shaking so much anymore. “It is only strange,” she replied, raising her eyes to his. “I will grow accustomed to it.”

He grunted, nodding, as if that were answer enough. Still, he sat close by her, watching her as if he feared for her well-being, and when he brought her a bowl of hot tea, he held it to her lips and let her lean into his body as she drank. 

Though she was no longer as cold as she had been, she did not hesitate to lift the blankets when she lay to sleep. The oni settled behind her, one hand shaping the curve of her shoulder through her robe.

“Chiko-chan,” he murmured in his rough growl. “Tomorrow, I must leave the temple. There is little food left, and tributes must be gathered.” He bowed his head over her, the spice of his breath and the warmth of his skin making a shiver run through her. “You will be well enough to remain alone?”

“I will rest, Oni-sama,” she whispered, watching the slowing dance of the flames. “You do not need to fear for me.”

“But I do, Chiko-chan,” he breathed, his lips brushing her ear. His hand slid down her arm, creasing her kimono, and his fingers twined through hers. He brushed his nose, his lips his cheek against her cheek, and Michiko trembled in his embrace. “You are mine. I will not lose you too.”

She drew his arm more closely about her, comforted by his words. “As you say, Oni-sama,” she whispered.

His low, rumbling breaths soothed her to sleep, and when she woke, she woke alone to a dull, grey morning. A dish of food and a bowl of cooling tea lay close at hand, and Michiko smiled quietly at his consideration. She had not yet the strength to walk abroad alone, so she lay close to the fire, sleeping and watching the rain fall in turn.

Their days fell back into a pattern after that. 

Sometimes, the oni would be present when she woke, sometimes not, but every day there was food prepared for her, and he never failed to leave a small pot of tea. She would rest, and as she gathered her strength, she would sometimes walk a little way, though she often returned to the warm cocoon of her blankets before to long.

She would write as much as her healing fingers would permit, for the oni had gathered paper for her, to allow her to entertain herself in his absence. When exhaustion took her, she would simply lie in the stillness and listen to the world about her.

Though the oni believed her heightened senses would fade in time, she did not wish them to, for there was a scent to the rain that she had never noticed before, a rhythm to the sound of raindrops on the leaves, even a taste to the air when the sun warmed and wrung the world dry once more. 

He would return by nightfall, and at first, he would throw together haphazard meals for both of them, but by the tenth day, when he returned, she had meals prepared. They were simpler than they had been, for she feared overstimulating her senses with flavours, but the oni did not complain, if he noticed. 

She no longer shivered, and the fire no longer burned so high, but when darkness crept upon them and the fireflies glowed, she would draw back the blanket, and the oni would nestle behind her, holding her as she slept. 

She woke one morning to the sensation of him gently rubbing his cheek against her uncovered shoulder. He skin was so coarse against her own that she shivered. He lowered his head, and the tips of fangs grazed at her neck. Michiko’s heart felt like it might stop.

“Oni-sama?” she whispered hoarsely.

He reverently smoothed her kimono back over her shoulder, covering her modestly. “Chiko-chan?” he murmured.

Michiko did not dare to look at him. To ask him his intention was unseemly, but he touched her as she knew men touched those they took as lovers. He had not touched her save to warm and comfort her, until now. She held fast his hand. “You were a man once,” she whispered, and felt him tense. “An ordinary man?”

The question carried such weight, for if he had been a man with a man’s own desires, then perhaps he could feel as a man could feel, even beneath the shell of an oni. 

He drew himself free of her touch, and rose from the blankets in silence. 

Michiko sat up, turning to look at him as he wrapped his tiger skins about himself. “If I am to know no other,” she said quietly, “can I not know you, Oni-sama?”

He looked at her then, with such stark disbelief, and bared his teeth. “You speak of what you do not understand,” he said, turning and stalking away from her, leaving her alone once more.

Michiko sat in silence for a long while. He did not believe she could feel as a woman might for a man. He did not believe any could look at him in kindness. Though she invited him to her bed each night, he did not touch her in any way save to warm her. Hideo would not have been so gentle with her, nor so kind.

She rose from the blankets and shed one of the winter kimono. It was better to do something than to sit and lament that the red string that bound her was now bound to a creature who did not wish to believe it was there.

She swept the shrine, for the first leaves of autumn were already beginning to fall. It came as a shock to realise that it was close upon Obon, the first when she would not be able to visit her family’s graves and place offerings. She knelt before the shrine, clapping her hands and bowing low, praying that any deity who might hear would be kind enough to carry her prayers to the ears of her ancestors. 

The oni was so doubtful of Tanabata, but he had given her a name then. Perhaps he too would wish to lay offerings for the boy named Kazuo. She prayed again, that Kazuo might find peace, and that the oni could find some manner of joy.

Michiko continued to sweep, tidying the shrine and the grand temple chamber that had become the home she shared with the oni. She could not recall the last time she slept in her moss-lined chamber, nor the last time she had not listened to the wind blowing softly through the bamboo thickets.

It was raining once more, a thick grey curtain on the world.

Michiko missed Aka and her foolish stories. Without the oni present, the shrine and temple seemed so empty, and emptier still for the absence of the kitsune. She made herself tea and sat upon the stone steps under the edge of the roof, watching the rain pattering in the stone courtyard, pooling between cracked flagstones. 

The bowl of tea was half-drunk and cool in her hands when she noticed a reflection in the puddles and raised her eyes.

There was a figure, indistinct through the sheeting rain, in the middle of the courtyard. 

At first, Michiko believe it was Aka, but as she looked closer, she could see bare arms and legs, and coarse clothing. The figure was a boy, and he was soaked to the skin. He was looking around, as if lost and scared, and there were tears on his face.

Michiko rose on the step, and the boy looked at her, wide-eyed.

“Come in from the rain!” she called. “You are soaked through!”

The boy shook his head, holding out a hand palm down, beckoning. He pointed behind him, as if he wished to show her something.

Michiko hesitated. “Do you need help?” she called out.

The boy nodded, tears bright in his eyes.

Michiko stepped down from the shelter of the temple. The oni would be furious that she had risked another chill, but there was a child in distress. The stones were wet and cold beneath her feet, and she shivered.

She had hardly moved a step when a creature leapt before her, placing itself between her and the boy: it was a snow-white kitsune, taller and grander than Aka could ever be. Thick-furred tails lashed behind it and it stepped towards Michiko, baring sharp teeth. 

Michiko retreated a step, back up. “K-Kitsune-sama?”

The fox’s amber eyes fixed on her and it jerked its head towards the fire. 

Michiko shook her head. “The child,” she said. “He needs help.”

The fox growled, turning and lunging towards the boy, who vanished as if he had never been there. The kitsune stalked in a circle in the rain, then back towards Michiko, fixing her with a stern look until Michiko relented and retreated towards the fire. 

The kitsune followed her, and in a blink went from being a sleek-furred fox to being a full-figured woman with snow white hair and a face lined with age. She picked up one of Michiko’s discarded kimono and drew it on like an Empress.

“Do you always disregard the advice of your betters, Chiko-chan?” she asked, binding the robe closed with a practised hand.

Michiko flushed, lowering her eyes. “I-I do not understand, Kitsune-sama,” she stammered. 

The kitsune stalked towards her, crouching down and lifting Michiko’s chin. “My granddaughter told you the dangers of walking into the rain,” she said. “And yet, when she is not here, you will disregard all that she says?”

Michiko stared at her, wide-eyed. “You are Aka-chan’s grandmother, Kitsune-sama?”

The Kitsune sat down beside her, cross-legged, her tails fanning out behind her. There were nine, as Aka had said. “It is so,” she said. She rested her hands on her thighs, staring intently at Michiko. “You saw the child. Your eyes are open, then.”

“I do not understand.”

The kitsune’s lined face shifted into a smile. “No,” she said. “You do not.” She laid her hand over Michiko’s eyes. “For so long, this is how you have lived. You saw glimpses of the world, but not the whole.” She withdrew her hand. “Aka-chan tells me you could always see glimpses, but now, your eyes are open, and you see all.”

“All?” Michiko echoed. “All of what?”

“All,” the kitsune replied. “Very few have the ability to see beyond the mortal world. You could, Chiko-chan, and now, the world beyond can look back and be seen.”

Michiko felt light-headed. “The child? He was a ghost?”

The kitsune shook her head gravely. “No ghost,” she said. “A child of flesh and blood, as much a child now as he ever was. He lives, but in the world beyond. Had you gone to him, you to would have followed his path and been lost to this world.”

Words slipped together, a dozen threads weaving together to make a whole: The path to the spirit world hidden in the rain. Aka’s fear that she might be spirited away to her master’s displeasure. The oni’s grief at being trapped between the mortal and spirit world, and unable to touch either. His despair when she accused him of hurting others by some accident or folly and his vow that he would not lose her too.

“Kazuo,” she whispered. “That was Kazuo?”

The kitsune inclined her silver head. “You have heard his name?”

Michiko nodded. “Oni-sama gave me his name,” she said. “His child?”

The kitsune’s long fingers folded together in her lap. “He does not know that the child watches over him, as he watches over this place,” she said. Her bright eyes stared at Michiko with a fierce intensity. “Each has been alone, but now, that is changing.”

“But Kazuo has no one,” Michiko said in a whisper.

The kitsune smiled a grave, wise smile. “That is not so, Chiko-chan,” she said. “Like his father, Kazuo now has you too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The red string - there's a belief that the Gods bind together two people who are meant to be linked (soulmates, friends or any other combination) with a red string, and they will always find the way to one another. The thread is either tied around the ankle or - in some Japanese mythology - around the pinkie.  
> Obon - the festival to remember one's ancestors. It often involves releasing paper lanterns to float down a river, and leaving tokens and tributes to the dead. It is also meant to be the time of year when the spirit and mortal world are closest to touching one another.   
> White kitsune - according to the mythology, the older and wiser the kitsune, the more tails they have. A nine-tailed kitsune is said to be the wisest and oldest of them all, and the white, nine-tailed kitsune are often the messengers of the Gods, specifically Inari.


	8. Chapter 8

The rain had stopped.

Michiko sat by the fire, cradling a bowl of broth in her hands. It was cold already, but she did not care. Her thoughts were on all that had come to pass earlier in the day. 

The oni's son, Kazuo, was haunting his father's refuge. He had gone unnoticed, for the oni was an earth-bound demon, and could no more see into the spirit world that Michiko could fly. Michiko did not know why she was able to see that which he could not. The oni always teased her for her piety, but now, it seemed that piety might be the very reason her eyes were clearer than his own. 

Aka-chan's grandmother had sat with her for several hours and chastised her sternly for her folly in venturing into the rain, but she had also touched Michiko's shorn hair and bruised shoulders gently.

"Both are lost, Chiko-chan," she had said. "The world has parted them, and they cannot touch one another. They seek peace, such as may be found. You are to be their guide."

Michiko shook her head. "I am but a woman, Kitsune-sama," she protested. "This world is far bigger than I. Oni-sama has such power, and the spirit world..." She quailed before the Kitsune's stern look.

"A woman is not powerful nor mighty, it is true," the Kitsune said, taking Michiko's hands between her own. "But a woman might lead with gentleness where only violence and fury have gone before." She bowed her snow-white head and pressed her brow to Michiko's. "Take heart, Chiko-chan. He will heed you."

In the silence after the Kitsune left her, Michiko wondered how the oni could be made to hear.

It would grieve him to know that his son had watched him as he walked abroad as a demon, terrorising those who did not pay tribute to him. The oni lamented his life as a creature no longer human, but not inhuman enough to see that which he wished to see. To know that he was seen by the very child he mourned, to know he was ignorant of it, he would be distressed.

His fits of temper were rarer now, but he still could be roused to rage by grief and fear.

The ancient Kitsune's words rang in her ears: lead by gentleness.

Michiko rose and went to the chamber where the food was stored. It was easier to speak of past griefs on a full stomach and when rested, than to be half-starved, exhausted, and lamenting. Though her fingers were still coarse with wounds, and her limbs shook when she exerted herself too much, she set to work.

By the time twilight settled about the mountains and the oni returned, she was settled by the fire. The food was prepared and the scent of it wound through the buildings. Michiko glanced up occasionally to check all was well, but her attention was on the paper before her, as she put together small poems.

"You have worked hard," the oni's voice rang out before she saw him.

Michiko raised her head, smiling quietly. "Oni-sama," she said, rising.

He emerged from the shadows, shedding his tiger-skin. his hair was wet about his face and he stalked closer to the fire, sniffing at the air. "I am to be fed well, hm?"

"And I, Oni-sama," she said innocently.

His dark brows pulled together. "You think you have been ill-fed?" he growled, prodding at her belly with a clawed finger. "You do not feel ill-fed."

"I am dressed in many layers, Oni-sama," she countered. "Beneath them, I fear my bones may be seen through my flesh."

His hands were abruptly at her waist, sliding from her hips up her sides, pressing the cloth of her kimono fast against her. Michiko's eyes widened in astonishment at such boldness, but the oni merely snorted. "Ha! I can feel flesh there well enough," he said, his head to one side, then he looked at her face. His expression changed then, as if seeing the surprise in her features, and he drew back, lifting his hands delicately from her sides. "No more nonsense that I leave you unfed."

"A-as you say, Oni-sama," she said. Her cheeks felt warm and her legs trembled. She bowed to hide her face.

The oni was silent for a moment, then put a claw beneath her chin to gently lift her head. He was frowning, as if confused, then released her just as gently, and crouched down by the fire. His skin glittered and sparked by the dancing tongues of flame. 

"Sit, Chiko-chan," he snapped, waving impatiently. "No need to hover about."

She returned to her place at once, kneeling, though she could not push the sensation of his hands dragging against her sides from her mind. "We shall eat shortly, Oni-sama," she managed to say, mortified by the tremor in her voice. "I did not expect you so soon."

He propped one arm on his upraised knee, watching her, but saying nothing. 

She kept her eyes averted as she leaned over the pot, stirring the contents with a long, thin stick. “Do you wish for tea, Oni-sama?”

He snorted, tugging a gourd from his belt. “Enough tea,” he said. “A shrine some villages away left a sweet plum wine.” He gave the bottle a shake. “Enough for both of us to have several cups, I would think. What say you?”

She darted a glance at him, startled. “If you wish to share it, I would be happy to Oni-sama.”

He bared his teeth in the expression she was coming to recognise as a smile. “I would not be unhappy for you to share it, Chiko-chan,” he said. He motioned to the pot. “Surely you did not think I would be gone so long?”

She glanced to him. “I had not expected you.”

"Hoped for peace for a little longer, heh?"

She stirred the pot, keeping her eyes averted from his. "That is not so, Oni-sama," she whispered. "It is so quiet when you are gone."

The oni grunted in disbelief, shifting. His claws rasped and rattled against the stone. "Better the company of a beast than none?"

She fetched one of the bowls, scooping some of the thick pottage for him. "You are no beast, Oni-sama," she said. "I do not understand why you insist it is so. A beast would not have saved me from the river. A beast would not enjoy good food." She raised her eyes briefly to his. "A beast would not create beautiful poetry."

He tilted his head, half his face cast in shadows. "You know little, Chiko-chan," he said, but there was a quiet sadness in his tone that had not been there before, which she only saw because now, she knew to look for it.

She rose, circling the fire to kneel and offer him the bowl. "I know enough, Oni-sama," she murmured.

He looked at her out of his strange, large eyes, then took the bowl from her, his long fingers and their sharp claws trailing against her hands so gently that she trembled. "Sit here, Chiko-chan," he said abruptly. "I do not want the fire between us."

She looked at him, startled. "As you say, Oni-sama," she said. "I-I shall fetch cups for the sake and some food for myself."

He grunted again, taking up his sticks and plucking at the food in the dish.

She hurried to the chest, kneeling to seek matching sake cups. Her hands trembled. 

Since the incident in the river, the oni had treated her with such care and attentiveness. He touched her frequently, sometimes without thinking on it, in such ways that would be more suitable between a commonborn man and his wife. That thought drew a blush to her cheek.

It was unsuitable to allow it, not simply because she was an unwed maiden.

The oni was a demon, even if he had once been a man.

Yet, when he looked at her, he looked at her with the eyes of a man, behind the mask of a demon.

She drew a shivering breath as she rose, returning to his side, and laid the sake cups down. He looked at them with amusement. 

"You have a fondness for your chipped cup, Chiko-chan?" he inquired.

Michiko flushed. "I-I did not notice, Oni-sama," she confessed.

He set down his half-finished bowl and opened the flask, pouring them a measure of plum wine each. With care, he lifted one of the cups in his claws, his other palm beneath it, and he looked at her, offering her the cup. It was offered with such grave reverence that Michiko's breath caught for a moment.

She bowed low, accepting the cup carefully from his hands. "Thank you, Oni-sama."

He snorted, waving away her gratitude, then reached for her bowl and filled it from the pot. "You should eat, my little Chiko-chan," he said, setting the bowl down in front of her. "We would not want the sake to go to your head." His lips curled and he bared his teeth in a grin. "You might succumb to the wickedness fuelled by the drink."

"And you, Oni-sama?" she asked, cradling her untouched cup. "Would you?"

"Ha!" He slapped his thigh again, then took up his own bowl. "You think I can be more wicked, hmm?"

She knew she blushed. "I-I do not know, Oni-sama," she whispered, taking a sip of the sake. It was sweet and strong and tingled on her tongue.

He unfolded one leg, straightening it to rest behind her. "I can, Chiko-chan," he murmured, his voice lower, a rumble that made her shiver down to her bones. "I can corrupt the good and virtuous." He lowered his bowl and leaned a little closer to her, until she could not ignore the warmth of him. "Make them think of temptations."

She looked up from her bowl. He was right, of course, for she had often thought of such things that were between a man and a woman when he held her in the dark stillness of the night. "That, I know, Oni-sama," she said, her cheeks warm. She hesitated then added in a softer tone, "You already have."

He drew back, his brow creased in bewilderment. Perhaps he had hoped to embarrass her or cause her to hide her face and giggle at his implication. He took such pleasure in earning some girlish response. Or perhaps, he expected denial and a dismissal. Whatever he had expected, he had clearly not received.

Michiko picked at her food, watching him. Where she had been flustered before, now, he avoided her gaze and looked down into his dish. He even folded himself back up, knees drawn to his chest, for a moment looking slighter, frailer than he usually did.

Only when she had eaten her fill and finished the sake in her cup did she venture to speak again, fearful of driving him further inward. "Does it please you, Oni-sama?" she asked quietly.

He turned a wary, timid look on her. "Please me?"

"The food, Oni-sama," she said quietly, both alarmed and awed by the nervousness she had caused in him.

He looked at his own half-finished bowl, then finished the rest in three gulping mouthfuls and nodded. "Yes. Yes, it was very good." He set the bowl down and took up his sake, balancing the cup lightly between his fingertips. He nodded across the flames to her inkstone and brushes. "You were writing, Chiko-chan?"

She turned her empty cup in her hands, once, twice. How better to gently broach the topic of what she had experienced earlier in the day than through imagery? It was a gentler way of telling him of his son's continued presence than to speak directly. 

"I was inspired, Oni-sama," she murmured. "Today, I saw much that made me wish to write."

He drained his cup, setting it down and motioned for her to do the same, refilling both their cups. He held hers out to her. "Recite for me, then," he said abruptly. "Let me hear what inspired you so."

Michiko accepted her cup once more, letting it nest in the palm. Her heart was pounding, and she tried to recall the poem he tossed so casually at her weeks earlier, the imagery within it. She gazed at the cup in her hands, then said carefully, "The ancient pine stiffened by long winter's frost looks upward, the seed lost in its roots."

The oni was silent for so long that she raised her eyes to him.

He was motionless as a statue.

Finally, he set his cup down with a deliberate care. She could see his hands trembled. "What seed?" he asked, the rumble in his voice distorting the words. "What seed is this you speak of?"

Michiko's own heart was racing, but she could not be afraid of him, not even when his temper was rising. "Kazuo-chan, Oni-sama," she whispered, her lips betraying her, dry and trembling. "Your son. I saw him."

The flames of the fire leapt wildly, higher than the height of a man, and all at once, the oni was looming over her, his hands gripping her arms cruelly through the fabric of her robe. She could feel his claws cutting through the fabric, and he shook her so hard that the cup fell from her hands, skittering across the stone.

"Who told you of him?" he roared, his face so close to hers that his breath scorched her skin. "Who dared to speak of him to you?"

Michiko stared up at him, too afraid to look away, afraid that if she did, he would rend her apart. "K-Kitsune-sama," she whispered. 

The oni hurled her back, leaving her sprawled on the ground, and leapt to his feet. "Treacherous, cunning vixen!" he snarled, pacing this way and that. "She would have you trick me. Fool me. Drive me from this place on some chase of a ghost!"

"No, Oni-sama," Michiko whispered, her voice trembling. "No, she means well."

He whirled about, a claw pointing at her. "What do you know of this world, Chiko-chan? Do you think because you have played servant for a time, you know friend from foe?" He shook his head, stalking towards her and crouching over her. He braced his hands on either side of her head, and he bent his face close to hers, baring cruel fangs. "You are a child. An ignorant child."

Pinned between his body and the cold ground, Michiko was frightened enough to weep, but she knew she could not. She moved one shaking hand to touch his arm as gently as she could. "O-Oni-sama, please."

He flinched back from her touch as if she had burned him, scrambling away and to his feet, circling around the flames until he was far from her, the fire between them. There, he paced from side to side, watching her with unmasked suspicion and hostility that he had never shown her before.

She picked herself up. She could feel bruises already and her robes were all about her. "I-I did not mean to distress you, Oni-sama," she whispered, bowing her head low.

He snorted savagely. "You think much of yourself, Chiko," he said.

She flinched at his words. "I did not lie, Oni-sama," she whispered.

"How can I believe that?" he hissed at her. "You know I cannot see beyond this world." The flames surged violently, licking across the roof, blinding her, and she scrambled back across the floor, raising her arm to shield her eyes. "Get out of here! Get out!"

Michiko, with a frightened sob, gathered her robes up in her hand and fled into the night.


	9. Chapter 9

The night was not cold, but the day's rain had left the world heavy with moisture. Michiko's feet were thick with dirt, and her kimono sodden from brushing against trees and undergrowth. She did not know where she was fleeing to, only that she had to be as far from the oni as she could be. 

There was little moonlight, and her cheeks were wet, but she ran until she stumbled and her legs ached.

Only then did she stop, seeking shelter beneath the shadows of the nearest trees, wrapping her arms about herself and shaking. She had expected the oni to be distressed, but to be so angry, to expect such treachery from her of all people, hurt like a blow. 

She pressed back against the broad trunk of the tree, shifting this way and that until she could nestle in a way that was as close to comfortable as was possible on the broad roots. It was not as damp as it could have been, but she shivered all the same, and looked out into the darkness. 

It seemed impossible that she would be able to rest, to sleep in the wilds of the mountains, but exhaustion overcame her all too quickly. Her eyes, heavy with grief and fatigue, slid closed.

She was woken by the crackle of flames and lifted her head from her arms upon the roots. 

It was still dark and the crickets sang in the silence. A fire was dancing a stone's throw from her, and a figure was crouched on the far side. For a moment, she thought it might be the oni, but it lifted its head, and the moon-pale face was not his. It was framed by tangled black hair, and bright black eyes looked at her anxiously. 

"A-Aka-chan?" she whispered. 

The kitsune ducked her head, rocking on her toes. "I-I didn't want to leave you on your own, Michiko-sama," she whispered. "I saw you run away. I followed. I couldn't catch you until you stopped." She gave a small, frightened whimper. "I did not mean to hurt you in the river, Michiko-sama! I promise!"

"I know, Aka-chan," Michiko said, her voice shaking. She rose - stiff-legged and aching - from the roots of the tree and stumbled to the fire. She fell to her knees and held out her hands, warming herself. "I thought you had run from me. I was sad that my friend was gone."

Aka darted around the fire and wrapped her arms around Michiko. "I missed you, Michiko-sama," she whispered, nuzzling at Michiko's throat. "I-I thought the oni would be angry and you would be angry."

Michiko buried her face in the kitsune's tangled hair. She smelled of rain and woodsmoke and earth. "I was never angry, Aka-chan," she whispered, her eyes pricking with tears. "I-I made Oni-sama very angry. He sent me away. He said I cannot go back."

Aka licked her ear comfortingly, her bare arms and legs tangled about Michiko's body. "If you wish, Obaasan will help us find a way for you to go home," she whispered. "Obaasan is very clever. She knows many people and many places."

Michiko closed her eyes, resting her cheek against Aka's hair. It was tempting to return to her family, to her village, to be a simple woman who married and bore the children of her husband, even if that was a husband who did not compose poems or rescue her from icy rivers. It would be a simple life, a proper life.

"No," she whispered. "I cannot. Oni-sama must know about his son. I must return to him."

Aka whimpered, nuzzling her shoulder. "Michiko-sama, he was so angry," she whispered. "What if he would hurt you?"

"I will give his temper time to cool," Michiko replied quietly. "His ire burns hot for but a little time." She stroked her fingers gently through Aka's hair, calming the kitsune's shivers and her own in turn. "He does not truly wish me gone, I know."

Aka stared at her wide-eyed. "How do you know, Michiko-sama?"

Michiko felt the warmth in her cheeks, remembering the tenderness with which the oni held her when she was wounded and weak. She could recall the brush of his lips against her bare shoulder. She thought of the robes, the ink, the food he had lavished on her. Perhaps it had all been unsaid, but just as the wind is unseen does not mean that it cannot be felt.

"I know," she repeated so softly, it was little above a whisper. 

Aka nuzzled her hair. "You should rest, Michiko-sama," she said. "You have come a long way and it is not safe to walk by night. I will hold you, if you wish to sleep."

Michiko nodded. "I am weary," she admitted. 

The kitsune scrambled up and pattered into the brush, returning moments later with armfuls of long reeds, which she spread upon the ground. "To keep you dry," she declared, patting the reeds. "Lie down, Michiko-sama. I will keep you warm."

"Are you not cold, Aka-chan? You have no robe."

The kitsune put her head to one side. "I will change," she said. "Then we both shall be warm."

Michiko laid herself down on the reeds, folding one arm beneath her head and gazed into the low, flickering flames. It almost felt as if she was back in the temple, in the safe warm place where she might draw back her blanket and spend the night in the embrace of a man who was not a man, who held her as if she were crafted from the finest of china. 

When Aka curled against her, once more four-legged and thick-furred, it did not feel as it should. Michiko closed her eyes and imagined a lean arm about her waist, coarse tiger hide, skin roughened with delicate scales, and the warmth of him. 

Aka's furry muzzle rubbed against her cheek comfortingly, and between the fire and the kitsune, Michiko drifted back into a sorrowful sleep. She only woke again when - close to dawn, Aka stirred at her back, and she opened her eyes to see the kitsune sniffing at the air warily. 

"Fah, child. I taught you better than this!"

Aka gave a happy bark, leaping over Michiko's body and darting around the fire as her grandmother pushed through the undergrowth. The fox cavorted excitedly around the elder kitsune, who shook her snowy head and approached the fire that had long since burned out. 

She looked across the ashes at Michiko, her stern, lined face unreadable. "He did not listen?"

Michiko sat up, arranging her robes modestly. "He was not ready to listen," she said quietly, "but he will be."

The ancient kitsune grunted in acknowledgement and knelt down on the other side of the fire. Unlike Aka, she wore a kimono, closed properly and bound correctly. She had a basket on her back, which she removed and opened. Aka went into a giddy frenzy of delight, thrusting her nose into the basket, only for her grandmother to swipe her sharply on the muzzle with a finger. 

"None of that," she said, when Aka whined and put her paw across her nose. She withdrew a small lacquered box and offered it across the firepit to Michiko.

"What is this, Kitsune-sama?" Michiko asked cautiously. "That box belongs to Oni-sama."

"Your precious oni will not miss it what will shortly be returned," the kitsune said abruptly. She shook the box. "Now, you are hungry, and if you do not eat, I have no doubt that Aka-chan will eat everything and lick the boxes clean."

Michiko accepted it, opening the box. It contained rice mixed up with vegetables and fried tofu, and her stomach growled. She did not even wait to see if the kitsune had fetched sticks too, instead plucking some rice up with her fingers and devouring it. 

Aka crept back around the fire, looking imploringly at her, and Michiko smiled, holding out a sliver of tofu. Aka nibbled it from her fingers, then curled up beside Michiko putting her chin to rest on Michiko’s knee. 

Michiko consumed the rest of the food, setting down the box when she was done. “Pardon my manners, Kitsune-sama,” she said ruefully. “I did not mean to be so rude.”

The kitsune snorted. “You kept your nose out of the box, which is more than can be said for my granddaughter,” she said. She braced her hands on her knees and looked sternly at Michiko. “You will go back to him?”

Michiko bowed her head. “I will, Kitsune-sama,” she said. “He must know of his son. If he wishes me gone after that, then I will go.”

The kitsune chuckled. “I knew you were a brave one, Chiko-chan,” she said approvingly. “He needs someone brave to knock some sense into that head of his. He has been alone far too long.”

Michiko hesitated, then asked, “Why did you not approach him, Kitsune-sama?”

The fox’s amber eyes gleamed. “You heard what he said to you, did you not?”

“Yes,” Michiko murmured. “He believed you wished to trick him.”

“He believes that of all,” the kitsune said. She was watching Michiko intently, expectantly, as if there was something in that statement which would explain all. Michiko thought on what she knew of the oni, of all that he had said to her, all that he had not said.

“His son was taken by trickery?” she asked quietly.

The kitsune inclined her head. “Of a kind,” she said. “It is not a tale that I can tell you, for it was before I even had my first tail. Let it be enough to know that he has not trusted any creature who walks between the worlds for as long as I have known of him.”

Michiko laid her hand on Aka’s head. The younger kitsune tilted her head to have her ears petted, her eyes closed. “He does not trust any creature,” she said.

The kitsune shook her heavy white head. “That is not so, Chiko-chan,” she said. “He trusts you.”

Michiko felt colour warm her cheeks. “No, he does not,” she said. “He told me so.”

“He told himself so,” the kitsune replied. “You know him, Chiko-chan. You know all that he has told you.”

Michiko did not dare to look at her.

“Tell me, child,” the kitsune said, “do you know what you will do?”

Michiko shook her head. “He must know of his son, but I do not know what to tell him. If I could only speak to Kazuo-chan…” The words caught in her throat and she gasped. “Kitsune-sama! It is Obon soon! The spirit world, it can touch this world, can it not?”

The kitsune’s eyes gleamed. “It is so, Chiko-chan.”

“Then, when the world’s touch, I will be able to speak to Kazuo-chan?”

The snowy head bobbed. “Perhaps. Perhaps.”

Michiko felt the smile break upon her face. “Then he can speak to his father through me,” she said eagerly. “I can help them both.”

The kitsune set aside her own food and circled the fire to kneel on Michiko’s left side, her granddaughter on Michiko’s right. She took Michiko’s hand gently in her gnarled one. “You have a vast heart to return to him, Chiko-chan, but do not imagine that it will be easy.”

“I know, Kitsune-sama,” Michiko murmured. “I have lived with him for many days already and it is seldom easy.”

The kitsune squeezed her fingers gently. “If you have need of a friend, you need only call on Aka-chan. She will find me.”

“You are very kind, Kitsune-sama,” Michiko said.

“And you were kind to my grandchild,” the kitsune said quietly. “We are not a well-liked people, Chiko-chan, but we are loyal to those who are loyal to us.” She lifted her other hand and brushed Michiko’s hair back gently. “We do not forget a kindness.”

Michiko was quiet for a long while, stroking Aka’s ears gently. “Are we a long way from the temple?” she asked quietly.

“Far enough,” the kitsune replied. “Take some rest. Give him some time to calm his fury. We can have you back by sundown, if that is your wish.”

Michiko’s fingers stilled on Aka’s head. “Yes,” she whispered. “I want to go home.”

“As you wish, Chiko-chan.”

The kitsune was as good as her word. They found a shallow point in the river and Michiko washed away the stains of her flight from her feet and legs. She was covered in scratches and bruises, and the oni’s hands had left marks upon her arms, but there was little pain. 

Aka paddled about her anxiously, keeping a close watch on her, but did not return to her human form until they set out in the direction of the temple. Only then did she rise on two legs and clasped Michiko’s hand as they walked.

“I will stay in our room,” she whispered, as they followed her grandmother through the undergrowth. “I do not want the oni to be angry at me.”

“It will be well, Aka-chan,” Michiko said softly. “I will not let him harm you.”

The journey seemed longer than it had the previous night, but she supposed when fleeing in fear, it was possible to run much further than one realised. She drew her hand from Aka’s as they neared. 

“I will go on alone,” she said quietly, turning to both kitsune. “Thank you, for taking care of me.”

The elder kitsune bowed deeply. “Be well, Chiko-chan,” she said. “We will be close, if you need us.”

She nodded, swallowing hard, and turned back to the temple grounds. Even through the trees and the ruins, she could see the flicker of flames. If the fire was burning, then the oni was present, and as much as it made her tremble, she knew she had to see him. 

Gathering her courage, she made her way into the temple, walking on silent feet.

She was shocked to see that the oni’s chest of treasures had been upturned, bowls and dishes shattered across the flagstones of the floor. The remains of their meal from the night before had boiled over and burned about the edges of the pot. His fury must have been terrible.

On the far side of the chamber that they had shared for so many days, she could see him sitting on the upper step. It was the same place she had stood when she saw Kazuo. She approached cautiously, and he did not move, even though he must have known she was there. 

He was toying with a small object in his hands, turning it over and over. Only when she was close enough did she see that he was holding her cup with the chip from the rim. 

Michiko put her hands to her mouth, her eyes pricking with tears.

For all his fury and anger, he had preserved that cup.

She approached him from behind, falling to kneel behind him and put her arms around him as tight as she could, pressing her cheek to his bare shoulder. 

“Oni-sama,” she whispered.

He trembled in her arms, and she felt one of his hands hesitantly, fearfully, caress along the back of her hand. “Michiko-san?”

The tears broke free and she held him fast. “I am home, Oni-sama. I am home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realised while writing this chapter that I didn't make clear how the honorifics work:  
> -chan - this is usually used to children/younger people. Basically, it's the kind of cutesy kiddie name. The oni uses it for Michiko, because he's technically putting her down a bit as a young, innocent wee thing.  
> -san - this is respectful. Incredibly so in the time. So Oni-sama using Michiko-san? IS EPIC. He is basically acknowledging her and respecting her as he never has before.  
> -sama - ultimate respect for old/sage/venerable/powerful people.


	10. Chapter 10

The oni had kindled a fresh fire.

Michiko knelt by the fire pit, watching as he put water to boil for tea. He had drawn her there as night's chill settled about the ruins, and draped one of her kimono about her shoulders, his hands resting lightly and briefly against her upper arms. 

The teapot was broken, but he found a small pitcher to serve in its place.

"You will be hungry," he said gruffly.

"A little, Oni-sama," she murmured, drawing the kimono more snugly about her. 

He prowled over to the chest, the one item that had not been overturned, and fetched one of her nigiri crafted the day before. He returned to her side, crouching down on his toes and proffered it to her, his eyes on her face as if he could scarcely believe she had returned.

She let her fingertips brush his as she took it, and held his eyes. "Thank you, Oni-sama."

To her surprise, he fell to his knees beside her, leaning so close and pressed his brow to hers. His skin was scorching, and one of his arms went about her waist. "I am glad you are here, Michiko-san," he whispered, his voice barely more than a throbbing growl.

She set the nigiri in her lap and rested her fingers lightly on his arm. Her skin tingled at the contact, his flesh far warmer than any flame, and met his eyes with her own. "I am yours, Oni-sama," she whispered, searching his expression, hoping he understood her meaning. "In all ways, I am yours."

His other hand was in her hair, cradling her head so gently, and a small, pained whine escaped his throat. "Do not speak so, Michiko-san," he whispered raggedly. "It cannot be."

Her throat felt dry and she flushed with shame. "You do not desire me?"

His arms tightened about her. "I do," he growled, his hand splaying on her side, "but I will not harm you to slake my lust."

Michiko felt light-headed. "You need not harm me," she whispered. 

His brow rubbed gently against hers. "Look to your hand, Michiko-san," he rumbled in her ear.

She did so with reluctance, drawing her hand from his arm. A startled sound caught in her throat. Her fingertips were scorched and burned where she had touched his bare skin. The flesh was reddened, and she raised her eyes to his, shocked. 

"My nature is that of fire, Michiko-san," he murmured, his hand stroking her side through her kimono. "When my blood runs hot..." He shook his head. "A mortal cannot touch fire without being burned."

Michiko felt her eyes prick with tears. She lifted her hand to brush his cheek gently. "I am sorry, Oni-sama."

He drew back reluctantly, though close enough for her to feel his warmth through her kimono. "It was not your doing, Michiko-san," he said. He waved a clawed hand to the nigiri she had forgotten. "Eat. You must eat."

She nodded, unwrapping it with aching fingertips. "Oni-sama," she asked quietly, gazing at the nigiri. "You say it was not my doing. Who is responsible?"

The oni was pouring tea into the chipped cup, the only one that remained intact, and he gazed at it for a long moment before offering it to her, balanced delicately on his fingertips. "I was," he said. "I was a fool."

Michiko cradled the cup in her hand and gazed at him as she ate. He was not looking at her, but looking into the fire, one hand resting on his upraised knee. His claws flexed convulsively against his skin, and there was a gravity in his expression that she had not seen before. 

She hesitated, then set the cup down and touched his knee lightly, careful to keep the sleeve of her kimono between their skin. 

"Tell me about your son, Oni-sama," she said.

He looked at her with melancholy rather than rage. "I lost him," he replied. "As I lost his mother." 

"To the spirit world?"

The oni looked back into the flames, nodding. "In a manner," he said quietly. "She was taken out of lust. He was taken out of spite." He frowned, the lines in his features carving deeply. "Do not anger the Gods, Michiko-san, for they are merciless."

Michiko lowered her eyes. It was a world so much greater than simply oni and kitsune. "A God claimed your wife?"

"Sometimes, they walk abroad as men," he murmured. "They believe it their right to take what they wish, and my wife was... not without beauty. He flattered and courted and was noble. It turned her head." His expression was weary, but not sorrowful. "I was only a farmer. I could not offer her precious silks and perfumes as he did."

Michiko felt a surge of quite unreasonable anger for a woman she had never met. "A woman should be loyal to her husband," she said with conviction.

The oni laughed quietly, sadly. "Her departure was no cause for distress, but Kazuo-chan had need of his mother." He lifted his head, looking out towards the skies beyond their walls. "I sought them, as they travelled. I spoke with her, implored her to return for his sake. Her lover was displeased and cast her beyond the veil of this world. I could not find her. He stood before me in all his might, and I quailed before him." His fingertips drummed against his knee. "When I returned home, the priests who had vowed to shelter Kazuo-chan for me said he had vanished in the night." 

"Taken?"

The oni nodded slowly. "Spirited away because I dared to try and take back what he had stolen with treasures and wealth."

Michiko looked at her hand where it rested upon his limb. "And so, you became oni?"

"I sought my son," he demurred. "I prayed. I fasted. I asked for guidance from priests. When they failed me, when no one would speak for me, I sought other means." He breathed out long and quiet. "I took this form in the belief that oni might walk in the spirit world, that I might find him." His lips curled in a mocking smile. "It seems my ignorance was my undoing. Oni, after all, are creatures of earth and fire. They have no place in the world of spirits."

"Oni-sama..." she whispered, filled with pity for him and his loss. 

He looked at her, very human grief visible behind the monster's visage. "Did you speak truly, Michiko-san? Did you see him? My son?"

"I believe so, Oni-sama," she said softly. "Kitsune-sama said it was so. She said that he walks on the edges of the spirit world to watch over you."

The oni keened softly, as if she had wounded him, one arm rising to shield his face from her. She averted her eyes, allowing him some privacy in his grief. He rocked slowly back and forth.

"He seeks you, Oni-sama," she finally whispered.

The oni's voice was broken. "He should not," he said hoarsely. "I have done terrible things, Michiko-san. No child should ever see their father as a monster."

"You are oni, Oni-sama," she said, moving her hand to gently touch his shoulder, offering what comfort she could. "Oni must obey their nature."

He looked at her bleakly. His face was streaked with salt where tears had burned away at the heat of his skin. "No, Michiko-san. It was not because it was my nature." He lifted his hand to gently draw hers from him. "It is because I chose to act so. I became a monster because I no longer had reason to be otherwise." 

"You need not remain so," she said quietly. "You have been kind to me."

His eyes searched her face and he brought up his hand to gently cup her chin. His claws rested soft as feather against her cheeks. "You do not simply see what is before you, Michiko-san," he murmured. "A rare gift." He bowed his head and rested his brow lightly against hers. "But you have been blinded to what I am by sentimentality. I am still a monster."

She gently wrapped her fingers around his wrist as lightly as she could. "And I see you are still a man," she said quietly. "A monster would not care if his touch harmed a woman or if his son had seen him commit terrible acts. You do. Is it not the nature of a man to be considerate of others? To care for their well-being?"

He closed his eyes. "Michiko-san," he whispered. He folded down upon himself, but Michiko did not allow him to draw away. She put her arms about his shoulders, drawing him to her, and when he trembled, she held him close.

"I am yours, Oni-sama," she whispered. "For good or ill, I am yours. I will take care of you."

The oni curled like a child on the ground beside her, and she let him lay his head in her lap. He was still trembling, and it grew more noticeable when she smoothed her fingers through his tangled hair. 

"I do not deserve your kindness, Michiko-san," he whispered, staring blindly at the fire.

She smiled briefly, sadly. "You have it nonetheless, Oni-sama," she murmured, drawing the back of her fingertips against his cheek. "And when Obon comes, I shall help you speak to Kazuo-chan."

He flinched as if struck. "I do not know if I can hear what he shall say," he whispered, his voice trembling.

"If you do not wish to hear, you need not," Michiko murmured, "but I shall act as his mouthpiece, and yours."

The oni was still and silent for a long while, gazing into the heart of the flames.

Eventually, he turned onto his back and looked up at her, his eyes as dark and night. The flames danced and glittered in their depths.

"What are you, Michiko-san, that you will lie with monsters and speak with spirits?"

She laid her hand on his chest, over the tiger-skin, and felt the wild drum of his heart beneath it. "I am but a woman, Oni-sama," she murmured.

His hand covered hers. "More than that, I think," he said. He shook his head wonderingly. "If the Gods could see in you what I see, you would be worth a thousand times the price paid for Kazuo's mother."

Michiko averted her gaze, blushing. "It is not so, Oni-sama," she said dismissively. "Do not speak so, for they may be listening."

His expression tensed, but he nodded, pushing himself to sit upright once more. "You are wise, Michiko-san," he murmured. He scooped up her cup and refilled it, pressing it into her hand. "Do you truly believe you can speak to Kazuo-chan when Obon comes?"

"The walls between the worlds are fragile on the night of Obon, Oni-sama," she murmured. "If there is any time we might speak to one from the spirit world, it is then." She could not contain a small, shy smile when he lifted her hand and pressed it to his cheek. "We can hope for it, Oni-sama."

"I cannot remember what it is to hope," he confessed quietly.

She drew her hand from his cheek and set aside her cup. "You shall, Oni-sama," she said, clasping his hands between hers. His skin no longer seemed so hot to her touch, and she wove her fingers through his gently as he brushed his brow to hers again. The spice of his breath washed over her face and it felt somehow more intimate than if he had laid her upon her back and had her as a man did a woman. 

"The wild wind roars about the gnarled branches of the solitary pine," he murmured, "regretfully shaking the delicate sapling."

Michiko smiled at the cautious apology. "The wind may gust, casting the branches of the willow asunder," she replied just as softly, "but it does not break."

The oni drew a trembling breath, and he bowed over their joined hands, pressing his brow to the back of her palm. She felt the hot spill of his tears upon her fingers.


	11. Chapter 11

Obon was drawing closer, and the oni was fretting more and more with each day. 

Michiko understood his fear, for it had been so long since he had been able to speak with his son. He lived with the dread that his son would dismiss him for his behaviour, turn from him, but she knew it would not be so. No child would linger so loyally on the borders of the spirit world to watch over their parent only to deride them. 

All the same, she knew no matter what she said to the oni, he would not heed her words. He was so tangled up in the belief that he could and would be no more than a monster that she knew only Kazuo's words could calm him. 

He was silent, more often than not, and he paced the ruins of the temple as she made preparations for the coming festival. 

Aka emerged from her hiding place, even when he was present, to help her. The shrine was neatened and offerings were placed for them. Michiko cooked up tofu, which she insisted that Aka-chan take to share with her family. The kitsune almost wept in gratitude, gathering up the battered baskets full of her favourite treats and rushing away. 

"You encourage her," the oni said. The sun was sinking and moon of Obon was on the rise, the night heavy and humid. He was snapping twigs one by one and tossing them into the fire. It was already a much larger blaze than usual, in preparation for the night. 

Michiko looked up from the pot which she was stirring. He had told her of Kazuo's favourite meals, and she was doing her best to make at least one of them. "Is it considered ill to show kindness to those who have little?" she asked.

"To a kitsune perhaps," the oni murmured. "You know what is said of kitsune. If you court them, they may be loyal to you, but they will bring ill to those around you."

A small smile touched her lips. "You let such superstitions guide you?" she teased. "Oni-sama, Aka-chan is a good and kind creature. She is playful and sometimes rash, but she means no harm."

He grunted, snapping another twig. "Playful and rash," he said. "She near drowned you with her playfulness."

"And if she had not, I would not have seen Kazuo-chan," she chided. She lifted the pot from the fire. "We each of us have made mistakes, but what we must not do is dwell on them. We must learn from them." She smiled quietly at him. "After all, you have learned not to cast me asunder."

Had he been a man, the change in his colour might have been a blush. "Michiko-san," he protested meekly.

She rose and circled the fire to kneel by his side. With the knowledge that he did not wish her gone, she had become far bolder, and she laid her hand lightly upon his arm. "You know I have come back for you, Oni-sama," she said gently, "and for your son. My family might love me, but they do not need me as you and Kazuo-chan do." Her fingers drew up lightly, and she had to lift her hand away as the heat rose in his flesh. "This is what I have learned."

He shook his head, his tangled hair flying about his face. "Such kindness," he whispered, his voice rasping. "I do not understand such kindness."

She smiled. "It is not there to be understood," she said, rising and returning to her cooking. "It is there to be offered and accepted." She looked back across the flames at him, and saw him still slowly shaking his head, a disbelieving look on his face. 

She scooped the food into bowls. The oni had gathered new ones, and there was a third, a beautiful lacquered dish, which was set aside for Kazuo. It was right and proper that a suitable offering be made in his name. She made the dish beautiful, and once they had eaten, she rose and looked at the oni.

"Will you come with me, Oni-sama?" she said quietly. "Will you make the offering with me?"

His fingers twitched in front of him and he looked at her fearfully. "Michiko-san..."

She approached him and offered her hand to him. "Do not be afraid, Oni-sama," she said softly. "I am here. I am with you."

He gazed at her hand, then unfolded from the ground. His long, bony fingers threaded between hers. "Do you not think me a coward, Michiko-san?" he asked unhappily, gazing at the ground.

She looked at him. "I think you are a man who has made wrong choices, Oni-sama," she murmured. She squeezed his hand. "Come. Let us make our offerings."

She led him through the ruins of the temple to the shrine. The wood gleamed, and she had lit small lanterns and candles, which cast a soft glow about. It was not the right manner of temple or shrine, of course, but it was all that they had in such close quarters, and she hoped it would be enough. 

She placed the dish upon the shrine and knelt, prostrating herself once, twice. She did not need to look to know that the oni was kneeling also, though he was some little way behind her, as if uncertain how to approach a shrine. She rose to her knees and sat back on her heels, bringing her hands together before her chest.

For all that she hoped, she was so very afraid that Kazuo might be bound in the spirit world.

"Tell me of your son, Oni-sama," she whispered, fixing her eyes upon a candle-flame.

"Michiko-san," he began, his voice trembling.

"Oni-sama, please," she whispered, staring at the flame until her eyes ached. "I returned to help you. Please let me help you."

He whined softly in his throat, but when she reached back blindly with one hand, his fingers curled around hers at once, seeking courage in her touch. "He was always a brave boy," he whispered faintly. "He would climb the highest trees simply to show that he could. Once, he fell. He hurt his head, and I was so afraid he was lost to me."

"But he would climb again," Michiko whispered, the flame dancing behind her eyes. "He would climb to show that he was not afraid of falling." The words were not hers. She knew they were not hers. Her hand tightened on the oni's, but it was not her thought that controlled it. "He climbed upon the roof of the temple once. Oto-sama was there below, calling to him." She laughed, but it was a higher sound, more boyish in her throat. "I told him I would not fall, for the guardians were there with me."

The oni cried out softly. "Kazuo-chan?"

Michiko's body wished to move, so she allowed it, turning to look at the oni, letting another see through her eyes. "Oto-sama," she heard a voice that was not her own whisper through her lips. 

The oni's eyes were bright with tears and he lifted his other hand to tentatively touch her cheek. He touched her, she knew, but he saw his son behind her eyes. "You are truly there?"

"I am, Oto-sama," Kazuo whispered through her. "Oto-sama, I want to come home, but they will not let me go." She could feel tears, a frightened child's tears, on her cheeks. "The door is shut and I cannot open it."

"I cannot find a way to you, Kazuo-chan," the oni's voice was breaking. "I-I became this to find you and now, I cannot find you."

Kazuo-chan was weeping freely. "I know, Oto-sama," he sobbed. "I did not mean for you to be harmed like this. I did not!"

The oni gathered Michiko in his arms, holding her, but holding his weeping son also. "My boy," he wept, his hands trembling. "Oh, my child."

The moon curved across the sky and candles burned low as the oni and his child spoke in softly broken voices. They spoke of times past, of all that they had seen and lived through, all their regrets and how very much they missed one another. Michiko's lips were parched, but she did not wish her own discomfort to separate father and son. They had so little time, so very little. 

Her offering was shared between them as they spoke, and night turned slowly towards day. It was close to dawn when the wind rippled about the shrine and the copper bell tolled dully.

Kazuo started in fright. "Oto-sama," he whispered, clinging to his father. "Oto-sama, I must go."

"No," the oni growled, holding him so tightly, Michiko could feel the bruises already upon her skin. "Kazuo-chan, you cannot."

The boy pressed Michiko's hands to the oni's shoulders. "I have no choice," he whispered. "Do not forget me, Oto-sama."

The wind gusted, and the candles and lanterns guttered into darkness.

Michiko's breath caught in her chest and her fingers bit hard into the oni's shoulders. She sagged in his embrace, gasping, her head spinning. "O-Oni-sama," she panted, her head falling forward to rest against the back of her hand upon his shoulder. 

His arms were still fast around her. "Michiko-san?" His voice sounded distant, hollow.

"Y-yes, Oni-sama," she whispered, holding on tightly to him for fear that she might fall if she released him. "I am sorry. He is gone."

The oni bowed his head, pressing his mouth against her shoulder through her robe. She could feel the heat of his searing tears soaking through the fabric and she dragged one hand from his shoulder to rest upon his head, her fingers trembling as they curled into his tangled hair.

"I am sorry, Oni-sama," she whispered.

He shook his head slowly, saying nothing, only holding her close.

The sun crested over the mountain, and light was returned to their world, yet as the warmth of the sun touched her, Michiko shivered. She felt cold down to her bones and a faint, weary sound escaped her throat. "Oni-sama," she whispered. "I am cold."

The oni drew his head back and looked down at her. His brow creased with worry and he rose at once, scooping her up in her arms as if she were as light as air. "You are pale as snow," he said, his voice still rough with grief. He carried her back through the temple to the fire, which was still burning hot, and knelt by the layers of kimono and mats that made up her sleeping place. He laid her down reverently, then fetched a bottle of the sweet plum sake from the chest, neglecting a cup to pour the liquid straight from the bottle between her parched lips.

Michiko trembled anew as the warmth of the alcohol rushed through her, and she reached blindly for the oni's arm. "Will you lie with me, Oni-sama?" she pleaded. "Warm me?"

He drew her kimono about her to warm her and curled against her back, framing her shivering body with his own. "As you wish, Michiko-sama," he whispered, their legs tangling beneath the spread of fabric.

"I am Michiko-sama now?" she breathed, closing her eyes, the warmth of the fire before them leaving dancing shapes in red across her eyelids. 

His mouth was warm against her bare throat and he breathed out gently, the heat of his breath making her shiver. "You are more than a mere woman, Michiko-sama," he whispered. He laid his cheek to hers, the scales of his skin scraping gently against her flesh. "Thank you."

Her eyes pricked with tears. "You are most welcome, Oni-sama," she whispered, wrapping her fingers around his wrist and drawing his hand to rest over her heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Obon - celebrated in Autumn, Obon is Japanese Buddhist festival to honour the ancestors, with offerings given and symbolic acts of kindness made. 
> 
> Channeling/possession - before the concept of germs and disease, when people were ill or troubled in some way, it was believed that they were being possessed. At shrines, there were Miko who were shrine maidens, who were seen as mediums, who specialised in channeling/communicating with the spirits. They also were involved in exorcisms and driving the spirits out. While Michiko didn't start out as one, because of her affinity to the spirit-world, she could technically be classed as a Miko, particularly as her virtue is still intact.
> 
> -sama - this is a mark of respect. Michiko has always used it with the Oni, because of his power. However, him using it for her is EPIC. Because she is just a village girl with nothing special about her. For him to call her this is basically according her the highest respect he can.


	12. Chapter 12

Michiko woke in daylight, yet she did not feel weary.

It was dawn, barely dawn, which made little sense. She remembered seeing dawn when she was laid down to sleep.

She could feel a warm body pressed to her back and stirred, turning as much as her worn and aching body would allow. “O-Oni-sama?” she whispered. Her throat felt raw and tender, as if she had swallowed something covered in thorns.

“It is me, Michiko-san,” Aka whispered, peeping over her shoulder.

Michiko stared at her incomprehension. “Aka-chan?”

The kitsune nodded. “The oni has gone to fetch you food,” she whispered. “He pulled me from my den and told me to watch over you while you slept.” She wrinkled her nose. “He said he would bring me something sweet if I guarded your sleep.”

“There was food,” Michiko murmured faintly. “I prepared much.”

“It does not last in this heat, Michiko-san,” Aka informed her, nuzzling Michiko’s shoulder gently. “You have slept all day and night. It was very hot all of the day. The food did not last. So the oni went to get more.” She rubbed her cheek against Michiko’s shoulder. “You must not go hungry.”

“A day and a night?” Michiko struggled to sit up, though her body protested. Her head felt heavy and she put a palm to her brow. “I-I did not dream of anything.”

Aka nodded solemnly. “Miko do not. The spirits come. They use all that you allow, and when they leave, you must rest for there is nothing left to dream with until you have rested well.”

“I am no Miko,” Michiko protested, pressing both hands to her temples. Her head felt like a jar half-full, as if all that was within was spilling about. 

“Miko speak with spirits, Michiko-san,” Aka whispered, kneeling up and gently running her fingers through Michiko’s tangled her, loosening it and smoothing it. “You speak with spirits. Does that not make you Miko?”

“One spirit, Aka-chan,” Michiko whispered. “Only Kazuo-chan.” 

She closed her eyes, shivering, remembering the sensation of another set of eyes behind her own, and another set of hands guiding hers. It felt strange, as if she were some puppet being turned this way and that. It was not painful or frightening, but it was strange. 

She ached, though. To have another spirit move within her body had to be the cause, and the ache went down to her bones.

Had the spirit been unfriendly, she could only imagine how terrible it might be.

Aka-chan seemed to feel her discomfort and knelt behind her to wrap her arms around Michiko, burying her nose in the back of Michiko’s neck. She made a soft, comforting sound and rocked Michiko in her arms.

“You were very brave, Michiko-san,” she whispered. “Obon frightens me. So many spirits walking about the world.”

“I did not feel brave,” Michiko confessed quietly. “I did not know what it was I was doing, only that I had to do it.” She clasped Aka’s hands over her belly. “I did not know how much Oni-sama grieved for his son. Or how greatly his son loved him.”

The emotions lingered on.

For all that Aka believed the spirits took, Michiko could feel the echoes of Kazuo’s despair at being torn from his father again, his grief at the voice between them, his desperate childish hope that his father could make things right. It was faint, a shadow cast by the cloud-masked sun, barely tangible, but there all the same and it drew fresh tears to her eyes. 

“He cannot return from the spirit world,” Aka whispered. “It is beyond the power of an Oni or a demon.”

“I know,” Michiko whispered sadly. “A God drove him there. Only a God could return him thence.” She shivered, reaching for the winter robes tangled about her. Where the ache was fading, the chill remained. “I am still cold, Aka-chan. Can you add some wood to the fire?”

The kitsune whimpered in concern and nodded, scrambling away. She returned moments later, tipping an armful of twigs onto the fire. Michiko watched them catch and watched the flames slowly building once more. She drew her robe closer around her, smiling briefly, sadly as Aka tangled her arms around her again.

“Why are you sad, Michiko-san?” Aka whispered.

Michiko traced a pattern on the back of Aka’s palm. “I am sad because I cannot do anything to aid Oni-sama,” she said quietly. “He became as he is to find his son, but he cannot.” She released a shivering breath. “I wish that I had the power to help him, but I am only a mortal woman. I cannot hope to counter the power of the Gods.”

Aka nibbled her shoulder gently, soothingly. “You have done much for him, Michiko-san,” she said softly. “Maybe it is enough? If you cannot do more, because you are not a God, if you cannot call him back across the boundaries…” 

She fell silent so suddenly that Michiko thought the oni had returned and frightened her, but the kitsune was rigid and quiet. “Aka-chan? Is something wrong?”

Aka startled, as if she had been lost in thought, and she giggled. “No, Michiko-san,” she said, embracing her. “I was trying to think, but it was foolishness. I can only think with the power of two tails. You need many many more tails to think wisely.” She turned her head, sniffing at the air. “He will be back soon. I shall fetch you water for tea.”

“No,” Michiko murmured, catching her wrist and tugging Aka back to her. “Stay until he returns? I do not wish to be alone.”

The kitsune crooned gently and nuzzled her ear. “Yes, Michiko-san.”

For a short time, there was only the sound of the distant birds in the forest, and the rush of the summer breeze stirring the leaves.

Michiko knew the moment the oni stepped into the courtyard of the temple, for Aka froze like a hunted beast, quivering at Michiko’s back. She keened softly, and Michiko patted her wrist gently.

“Go, if you wish,” she murmured. “He is here now.”

The kitsune shifted form and fled, vanishing from sight as the oni approached.

He was burdened with a basket upon his shoulder, and paused at the sight of her. She could not identify all the expressions that flitted across his face, but he crossed the floor to approach her and knelt close to her, searching her face intently. 

Michiko lowered her eyes, flushing. “I am well, Oni-sama,” she murmured. “You do not need to be concerned.”

“You slept as one dead, Michiko-sama,” he said, putting the back of his hand to her brow gently. “You are not so cold as you were.” 

“I do not feel warm yet,” she said quietly, raising her eyes to him.

“No,” he said, watching her. “You have ventured far. Those who do what you have done seldom bind themselves so long to a spirit.” She could see the concern in his eyes. “I was afraid there was damage that could not be undone.”

She put out her hand to touch his gently. “You spoke with your son,” she said. “It was worth some little coldness.”

His face creased with distress. “Michiko-sama,” he whispered, lowering his basket and gathering her hand up, pressing his brow to it. “None other would do as you have done. None would allow him that.”

Michiko lifted her other hand to tilt his head up, waiting until his eyes met hers. “You forget, Oni-sama,” she said gently, “I am none other.”

He tilted his head, rubbing his cheek against her palm, and she could feel the warmth of his tears trickling between her fingers. She rose on her knees wordlessly and gathered him to her, putting her arms about him and letting him rest his head upon her shoulder.

She could feel the gentle press of his claws through her robes, the heat of his skin warming her as a fire had not. The chill that lingered seemed to dissipate and she stroked her fingers through his hair and over his bare shoulders and arms, drinking in his warmth.

“I do not deserve you, Michiko-sama,” he whispered.

“Who is to say what any man deserves, Oni-sama?” she asked just as softly, her cheek resting against his hair. “You asked for me. I chose to come with you.” Her fingers brushed across the nape of his neck. “You need me. I am here.”

He drew back to look at her. “You will not leave me alone, Michiko-sama?”

“Even if we were parted, Oni-sama, I do not believe I could stay far from you, even if you wished it so,” she confessed quietly. “We are bound, you and I.” She smiled shyly, unsteadily. “Fate led you to me. Fate has bound us. The red string is not something that is easily severed.”

“The red string?” He looked at her in dazed wonder. “You believe I am to be found at the end of your red string?”

She touched his cheek, wondering when his monstrous face had become so beautiful in her eyes. Strange, yes, but beautiful nonetheless. “I know you are, Oni-sama,” she said softly. “You are as a husband to me. You are where I must be.”

He crooned softly, nudging his brow to hers, his fingers shaping her spine through the fabric of her robes. They could not touch, not as a man and a woman might, but some things were much more fragile and precious. Michiko knew moments when he held her thus, when she was safe and sheltered in the arms of such a powerful creature, she had nothing to fear.

“You must eat,” he said finally, drawing back. “You must be hungry, Michiko-sama.”

She put her hand to her belly. “I am, a little,” she confessed. “I did not imagine I would sleep so long.”

He dragged the basket closer, unwilling - it seemed - to move away from her. “No, nor I,” he admitted. He drew a box from the basket, offering it to her with both hands. “You were still and silent for so long, I feared…” He looked away, picking through the basket. “You must eat and regain your strength.”

She hesitated, then laid her hand upon the warm flesh of his knee. “I am well, Oni-sama,” she said reassuringly. “Only a little cold and weary. I am not lost to you.”

He gazed down at her hand, then looked up at her. “You should have far better than an oni,” he said with such sadness that her heart ached.

“And you should have far better than a silly girl with a love of poems,” she countered with a small and teasing smile. “We must each accept our burden.”

He wrinkled his nose at her. “Strange woman,” he said, ducking his head.

She laughed quietly and pressed his thigh lightly with her fingertips. “And strange man,” she said. “You see? We are well-suited after all, in our strangeness.”

A soft half-smile curved his lips, baring his fangs. “Perhaps,” he agreed, looking up at her from beneath his lashes.

Michiko lowered her eyes and smiled.


	13. Chapter 13

Thunder was rolling across the mountains.

The oni was brooding beneath the very edge of the temple roof, rocking on his toes, his claws curling against his knees as he gazed out at the sky. Storms brought out the worst in his temper. Michiko saw him bare his teeth at the heavens, before lowering his gaze and watching the rain casting ripples in the puddles. 

She approached him quietly, kneeling by his side. 

In the few days since Obon, he had become withdrawn, as if the fresh reminder of his son's loss, and his inability to save him had driven him inwards. He was still gentle with her, careful, but she would often see his expression shift to sadness the moment he believed she did not look at him. 

"You do not like the storms?" she asked softly.

"He gloats," the oni whispered. "He sees my wound is opened once more and he wishes to pour salt water into it. He wishes to remind me who is responsible."

Michiko looked out at the black skies, the clouds swelling and ominous. The thunder rumbled, shaking the very building they sheltered in. "He?" she whispered. "He is the one who took your family from you?" Perhaps it was her imagination, but the thunder seemed to echo with malevolent laughter. She put her hand on the oni's arm, but drew it back with a small cry of pain. His skin felt like it was boiling.

He leapt to his feet, stumbling out into the storm. "I am not safe," he hissed, steam rippling from him where the rain touched his skin.

"Oni-sama," she called after him, as he loped away across the courtyard and vanished out into the forest. She looked down at her hand, the skin blistered from the contact with his skin. 

"Oni-sama, Oni-sama," a booming male voice echoed her mockingly. Michiko spun around to see a man standing in the place that was her home, a stranger. He was garbed all in red with eyes as black as midnight. "You give him too much respect, girl. One such as he?" He shook his head, chuckling. "He deserves all that befalls him."

Michiko's heart drummed wildly against her ribs. "T-Takehaya Susano-o no Mikoto," she breathed, bowing low.

"Ah, you know to whom you speak," he said. She could hear the satisfaction in his voice.

Michiko knew she walked upon thin ice that might crack at any moment. The oni spoke of the God's pride, and his arrogance. He did not like to be refused or denied. Should she reveal her true thoughts of his cruelty and greed, he would punish her, or worse, the oni. 

"I have heard many tales, Susano-o-dono," she whispered, keeping her eyes down, "of your mighty deeds and displays of power."

It was a word game, she realised. Speaking the truth, but not revealing all that she knew of him. Flattering him, while concealing her disdain, twisting the words about him. She could see from his shadow moving that he was preening, and he approached, his red robes billowing about him. 

The grip of his sword was pressed under her chin, forcing her face up. "And what do they say of me, Yamada Michiko," he said, dark eyes glittering. 

"They say you know how best to punish the unbelieving," she breathed, her hands trembling by her sides. "That your punishment to the oni only grows with every passing year." She brought her hands together before her chest. "Please, Susano-o-dono, did you allow Kazuo-chan to speak through me at Obon? For surely, that was a masterful stroke to crush his hopes."

For a moment, he looked startled, then he smiled arrogantly. "Of course!" he said. "The wretched man needs to know how to respect those who are superior to him!"

"A lesson I am sure he is learning well," she said as sweetly as she could. "A clever punishment, Susano-o-dono. Very clever."

She could see how he puffed himself up with pride, smirking. "Well, one does what one can," he said, pleased to claim a miracle that was not his own. He gestured grandly. "Sit, Michiko. Sit and tell me more."

She obeyed, watching him through her lashes. "What would you have me tell you, Susano-o-dono?"

"Tell me how he suffers," he said with such malevolent glee that she wished she had it in her power to strike him down. It was no doubt his intent, for if she tried, if she moved against him, she had no doubt he would not hesitate to cast her into another world as he had the oni's wife and son. 

She darted her tongue upon her lower lip. It pained her to degrade the oni, but to be sure that the deity would not do further harm, she had to. "He weeps," she said, her voice small. "To undo what you did, he became oni, but because he became so, he cannot ever reach his son."

"Yes, yes," the God's laughter echoed around the mountains. "A fool indeed, to seek redemption as a demon."

Michiko lowered her eyes, unable to look at him without contempt. Her hands folded together tightly in her lap. "He may wear the face of a demon, Susano-o-dono," she said, her voice trembling, "but beneath it, he remains a man. He grieves as a mortal man would."

"And loves too, I think, heh?" He studied her with dark, glittering eyes. "Tell me, Michiko, what are you to him?"

Michiko felt ill with dread, but she gathered her wits. "Untouchable," she replied, raising her eyes to his. She turned over her hand, revealing the burns on her skin. She could feel hot colour in her cheeks, but knew if she did not speak, he would consider her another blade with which to wound the oni. "He... desires me, as a man does a woman, but he cannot touch me."

Susano-o's dark eyes narrowed. "Cannot or will not?" he demanded, his voice a low rumble.

Michiko forced herself to meet his gaze. "Can not," she whispered. "And will not. He will not harm me, though it pains us both." She lowered her eyes and played her last tile in the hopes it would be enough to keep him from sweeping her away. "Death would be a mercy over such torment."

He was beside her suddenly, and he took a hold of her, dragging her robe open around her. "I wonder how much it would grieve him to know you could be taken by another, but not by him," he said, his face so close to hers. She could feel the oppressive, suffocating air of his power almost as keenly as his coarse hands on her flesh.

"I-it would please him," she lied, trembling in his grip, "to know that another would still look upon a tainted woman such as I with desire." She forced herself to touch the beast's arm. "He would have me loved. He tried to drive me from him to save us both from the pain of not being together as man and woman."

He inhaled the scent of her, his dark eyes searching her face. "A pity," he said, releasing her. She fell back on her arms, scrambling back from him and drawing her robes modestly closed. She neatened herself, hoping her panic had not shown in her eyes. 

"Forgive me, Susano-o-dono," she said, lowering her eyes. "I am but a woman. I do not guide the thoughts of the oni."

The God drummed his fingernails on the sheathe of his sword. "He tried to drive you from him, hmm?"

Michiko lowered her eyes and nodded. "He did," she whispered, clasping her hands together to the point of pain. "To save himself pain."

He lifted his blade and pointed it at her. "You will stay with him," he said. 

Michiko ducked her head lower to hide her smile. "I-I must obey the oni, Susano-o-dono," she whispered as pitifully as she could.

The thunder shook the building about them and the God leapt to his feet in a fury. "You must obey?" he roared. "What is this creature that his word is more powerful than my own?" He caught her hair, wrenching her head back. "You will remain with him. If time or season or another dares to part you, you are bound to him! You shall never be free from his presence! You will be his woman and no other's no matter if he commands you to leave nor if he begs!"

"Please, no," she whimpered.

He bared his teeth at her, gnashing them like a beast. "It is done!" The thunder cracked above the temple, and he was gone. 

Michiko crumpled to the floor, trembling. Her scalp was torn, and she was shaking, but she felt triumphant. He had bound her to the oni, and that meant even he could not drive them apart without undoing his own word. If all else about the oni was torn from him, Susano-o would never take her from him, not without shaming himself.

"Michiko-san!"

Michiko barely had a moment to raise herself from the floor when Aka crashed into her arms, hugging her tightly, fiercely. "Aka-chan!" she squeaked, smothered by the kitsune's body.

The kitsune sat back, but took Michiko's face between her hands, searching her features. She sniffed all over Michiko's face and throat, then both of her hands, and looked back at her. "You are still you?" she said. "You are not stolen away or a ghost?"

"I-I am well," Michiko replied, though her hands were shaking. Her cheeks felt cold and she raised a hand to find tears upon her face. 

Aka wrapped around her tightly, both arms and legs, and held her fast. "I will not let him take you," she growled.

Michiko laid her head on Aka's shoulder. "He will not," she whispered. "I am safe, Aka-chan."

The kitsune crooned quietly. "He is cruel," she whispered. "He is very cruel." Her fingers stroked gently through Michiko's hair. "I do not like it when you are sad, Michiko-san. You are sad and now you weep." She whined, licking the tears from Michiko's cheeks. "Do not be sad."

"How can I be happy, Aka-chan?" she asked in a whisper. "Oni-sama suffers because of Susano-o, and I cannot ease his heart. How can I truly be happy when he is so sad?" She looked up at the kitsune. "All I can do is remain with him and hope that it will help him."

The kitsune keened softly, holding her tightly. "I do not like it when you are sad," she repeated in a sorrowful whisper.

"I know, Aka-chan," she whispered. 

She felt rather than heard Aka's low growl moments later and lifted her head to see the oni approaching.

"Where did you go?" Aka barked angrily. "You left her all alone and he came here!"

The oni stared wild-eyed. "What?"

"Susano-o-dono was here!" Aka snarled, baring her teeth. 

The oni was close by then in an instant, one hand gently touching Michiko's head, seeing the torn scalp. His eyes blazed and he bared his fangs. "Did he harm you?"

Michiko put out her hand and touched his knee lightly. "He cursed me," she murmured. The oni growled so savagely that she had to raise her hand to call for peace. "He cursed me to remain with you for eternity."

The oni blinked at her foolishly. "You... how is this possible?"

Michiko curled her fingers against his knee. "I have known vain men before," she murmured with a small smile. "You must capture them with their own pride." She looked up at him. "Have no fear, Oni-sama. He will not take me from you." She laughed, only a little dazedly. "In fact, he wants you to be burdened with me."

The oni shook his head in disbelief. "Strange woman."

"I am, Oni-sama," she agreed, seeking his hand with her own. "Your strange woman."

The oni lifted her hand to rub his cheek against the back of her palm. "My cursed strange woman."

Michiko closed her eyes. “Yes,” she whispered. “For ever.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Susano-o - This would be the God of Seas and Storms. Who tends to cause chaos wherever he puts himself, because he's just that hot-tempered :D


	14. Chapter 14

A peace had settled upon the ruined temple.

Though the oni was still much more solemn than he had been, he no longer brooded. It seemed that Michiko's skill in fooling Susano-o had eased the oni's fears that he might also lose her as he had lost his son. 

Her duties resumed, cooking for them both and keeping the temple and shrine in order. She would write too, waka and observations of her surroundings. When he returned, the oni took pleasure in watching her write, though he no longer offered waka to her in turn when she read her writings of the day.

There were some evenings when Aka would even dare to curl up in front of her, while the oni was wrapped about her back like a shadow. Michiko would gently stroke the kitsune's fur, aware of just how much courage it took for her to stay close to, when the oni was present.

He no longer seemed inclined to threaten the fox-girl. Perhaps it was her boldness in defending Michiko, after Susano-o set foot in their domain. Perhaps it was simply that he trusted Michiko's opinion of her. Michiko did not know, nor did she truly wish to. That there was peace was enough to make her happy. 

Day by day, they went on with their lives.

Aka was her near-constant companion in the day, and the oni never left her side by night. 

To divert Michiko when her tasks were done, Aka occasionally begged for Michiko to groom her hair. It took some work, for the kitsune was inclined to tumble about so much that her long black hair was knotted and tangled. Michiko had Aka sit before her and set to work with a wooden comb that the oni had given her. 

"You will have to stay very still, Aka-chan," Michiko cautioned her, when the kitsune started rocking from side to side, humming to herself. "Or else it might hurt."

Aka whined in protest. "But I will be bored," she protested. 

"You can tell me stories, for you will have to concentrate on them?" Michiko suggested.

Aka wriggled happily. "I know many stories!" she declared.

Michiko caught her shoulders, holding her fast. "Then perhaps tell me a tale of a kitsune?" she suggested. "I do not know any of your stories."

The kitsune went still, wrapping one arm around her knee. "I will show you my secret," she said, as Michiko set to work combing her hair. She clasped her hand to her chest, then opened her hand, revealing a small furry ball. It was the size of a small plum, and when Michiko leaned over her shoulder to look at it, the fur seemed to melt away, revealing a shimmering white surface. Almost at once, it was furred again. 

"What is that, Aka-chan?" Michiko asked in a whisper.

"It is the kitsune magic," Aka confided. "Inari-dono placed her blessing upon us. We each have a jewel that allows us to walk as people." She closed her hand and the gem vanished again.

Michiko drew long strands of Aka's hair through her hand. "Is it true that if someone finds a kitsune's gem, the kitsune must do as they ask."

Aka hissed softly. "Only if they give it back," she said. "Mine is only little because I am only little, but if someone found obaasan's, it would not be good." She tilted her head forward as Michiko continued to comb her hair. "Inari made us in her image, each with our jewel. If someone has power and their gem is found..." She trailed off into silence, still as a rock.

"Aka-chan?" Michiko prompted. "And their gem is found?"

Aka squirmed around in her arms, looking up at her. "Michiko-san," she said, her eyes wide and round, "what would you do if you found a kitsune's jewel?"

Michiko stared at her. "I would give it back, of course," she said. "Surely you do not think I would keep it."

Aka beamed at her, and threw her arms around Michiko's waist. "That is what I thought, Michiko-san!" She wriggled back around and tilted her head back. "You are a very good person."

Michiko shook her head with a smile.

She told the oni of it when he returned that night, after Aka skipped away, her hair braided and crowned in flowers. They were sitting together by the fire, and he offered to help her untangle her hair for her, prompted by the comb that was still lying among her sleeping clothes. 

"She is a foolish cub," he murmured, combing Michiko's hair as gently as she had combed Aka's. "If she imagines you would do anything less."

She tilted her head into her touch, smiling. 

Sometimes, just sometimes, when they were alone, the oni would venture a more intimate touch. His lips and fangs would leave gentle bruises on her throat. His hand would caress her through her robes, and sometimes, she would let her hand follow his but beneath her kimono, bringing herself cautious pleasure before him. By the firelight, he would watch her, his breathing as shallow as her own.

They could not be together as man and woman, but it did not mean they needed to be denied some small pleasure in one another. He delighted in watching her, she knew, and what pleasure she could grant him, she would freely give.

One night, when the moon was full, he led her into the forest. 

"Where are we going, Oni-sama?" she asked, holding his hand.

He lifted her down a tangled pile of fallen trees, setting her feet gently on the mossy ground. "A surprise, Michiko-sama," he said, his eyes glittering by moonlight. "You have given up so much to come and live in this place." He paused, looking at her, and she could see the hope, the uncertainty. "Are you happy here, Michiko-sama?"

She squeezed his hand more firmly with his fingers. "You know I am, Oni-sama," she said softly. 

He looked so lost for a moment, that she wished she could ease his mind, then he turned and led her further down into the forest. She could hear the whispers of water rippling, and he pushed through low branches, holding them aside as if they were a screen.

Michiko's breath caught in wonder. 

He had found a hidden hot spring, the water steaming silver in the moonlight. There were stone lanterns, ancient and worn, which he had lit. Fireflies flickered between the dark trees surrounding it, and the oni drew back from her, looking at her in nervous expectation. She approached, the moss soft and damp beneath her bare feet.

"This is beautiful, Oni-sama," she said softly. 

"You deserve something beautiful, Michiko-sama," he replied, watching her from the very edge of the clearing.

She smiled at him. "Will you join me, Oni-sama?"

For all that they had held one another, it seemed that he blushed, lowering his eyes. "I would not wish to cause you embarrassment, Michiko-sama."

She looked at him solemnly, then crossed the clearing and took his hands in hers. "Come with me, Oni-sama," she said gently. "I would have you here with me." He looked at her uncertainly as she divested him of his tiger skin, his clawed hands catching her wrists lightly when she reached for his loincloth.

"Michiko-sama..." he said timidly.

Her cheeks turned a soft shade of pink and she averted her eyes. "I will not look," she said, turning her back and loosening her own kimono. She heard the hiss of his breath as she bared herself to the moonlight and to his eyes before she stepped down into the steaming water.

It was hot, almost but not quite unbearably so, and she groaned softly as she waded into it, carefully testing the bottom of the pool with her toes, and seeking out the rocky ledges that framed it. She did not turn until she heard the light splash of the oni slipping into the water also. For one so bold to be moved to such shyness in her presence was a wonder to her.

There were smooth boulders here and there, and she sat upon one at the very edge of the pool, sunk to her neck in the wonderfully hot water. It had been so long since she had bathed in anything but the icy streams from the mountains. She laid her head back against the mossy bank, her eyes half-opening to gaze at the oni.

He was sitting on the far side of the pool, watching her with fond indulgence. "You like the heat?" he asked.

Her lips curled. "I do," she murmured. She moved a hand to flick some water at him and he wrinkled his nose in mock annoyance. "What have I done to be granted something so lovely?"

The oni shook his head, his curls made lank by the steam. "You have been yourself," he replied.

Michiko knew she would have blushed, had her cheeks not been reddened already by the heat. She put her hand up modestly before her face. "Oni-sama," she said self-consciously. 

His eyes were intent upon her face. "I would have you happy, Michiko-sama," he said, his voice a low growl. "I would have you the happiest woman in Yamato."

"For that, Oni-sama," she said with some sadness, "you would have to be the happiest man, and I know that cannot be, not as long as Kazuo-chan is beyond your reach."

He rose, wading towards her, the water rippling about his chest. Beneath the water, she felt his legs brush hers, as bare as her own. Her head felt light and she looked up at him. A clawed finger curled beneath her chin and he bowed his head to brush his brow to hers. 

"Then we shall be content enough," he murmured. "Yes?"

Michiko smiled. "Yes, Oni-sama," she said, lifting her hand to touch his cheek.

He crooned softly, nuzzling her palm.

He was so gentle with her, so kind, that she wondered how she could ever have seen him as a beast. 

As the seasons changed, when he walked abroad, gathering tributes and wielding his club against those who would offend him, he never left the temple without leaving some small token of his affections. When the leaves began to turn, she woke shortly after dawn and found a cluster of red and golden leaves beside her head. Another day, there was a shimmering white stone the size of a persimmon, and another, a small bowl of sweet berries. 

Each treasure was cherished. 

Those that she could, she collected in a wooden box, which had once been part of the oni's collection. He knocked her shoulder with his own, bashful, each time she tried to offer him thanks. It was easier to touch his arm lightly and wait for him to look at her and offer a smile in return. 

Aka occasionally tried to sneak peeks into the box, but when Michiko offered to show her, she would hide her nose behind her hands and giggle and shake her head. 

"They are your treasures, Michiko-san," she insisted. "I cannot look at them."

Michiko smiled and stroked her hair fondly. "If you ever wish to see them, you need only ask," she said. "You are my friend after all."

Aka nodded happily. "One day, I would like that," she agreed.

That day came unexpectedly, when Michiko had been washing her clothes down by the river.

She returned with her empty basket, the robes hung to dry upon branches in the autumn breeze, and was startled to hear yelps of pain from within the temple. She dropped her basket and grabbed a large stick, rushing into the temple.

She stopped short in horror at the sight of Aka pinned upon the floor by her growling grandmother. They were both in their fox form, and the white Kitsune’s teeth were at Aka’s throat, holding her fast. Aka was whimpering, her twin tails curled in beneath her. 

"Kitsune-sama!" Michiko gasped. "What are you doing?"

Aka's grandmother shifted form. She lifted her jaws from the back of Aka's neck, replacing them with the grip of a bony hand, pinning her granddaughter fast to the ground. For once, she did not attire herself, her body arced over Aka ferociously. 

"This is none of your affair, Chiko-chan," she growled. 

Michiko cast aside the stick she held, rushing forward. "But it is, Kitsune-sama!" she implored, throwing herself down on her knees and bowing urgently. "Aka-chan is my friend. If she has offended you, if she has harmed you, please forgive her."

The ancient kitsune snorted, releasing Aka, who whimpered and crawled behind Michiko, hiding from her grandmother's wrath. She was trembling, her head down, her ears flat. 

"She has stolen," her grandmother growled. 

Michiko looked back at Aka, who was cringing down to the floor. "Kitsune-sama," she tried to speak calmly, her voice trembling, "do foxes not steal? Is it not known? There is no harm in such actions, Kitsune-sama."

The older kitsune bared her teeth. "Not unless she steals from her kin or her mistress," she snapped. 

Aka keened softly, pressing tighter against Michiko’s back.

Michiko reached back and touched the young kitsune's head comfortingly. "What has she stolen, Kitsune-sama?" she asked softly. "Perhaps it is only lost?"

The old kitsune's fingernails lengthened into claws. "A jewel."

Michiko's heart pounded hard against her chest. Of all the gifts she had found scattered about her in the past weeks, only one of them had seemed strange, out of place. "A jewel?" she echoed unsteadily. "Perhaps the size of a persimmon? White? With a fire at its heart?"

The kitsune's amber eyes flashed. "It is so."

Michiko's hand trembled on Aka's head. "I know this jewel, Kitsune-sama," she whispered. "I found it."

The old kitsune stared at her. "You?"

Michiko rose, her legs quaking beneath her, and she went to her small box, opening it with hands that felt clumsy with shock. The jewel rested where she had left it, amid a nest of feathers, leaves, ribbons and silks. It was warm against her hands and she returned to the kitsune. She knelt and opened her hands, the gem resting between her palms. 

The old kitsune reached out a trembling hand, then drew it back without touching the shimmering stone. "Do you know what that is, child?" she asked hoarsely. "Do you know what it is you hold?"

“Your jewel, Kitsune-sama,” Michiko whispered. “Please. Take it. It is yours.”

“Oh, not mine, Chiko-chan,” the old Kitsune said. She met Michiko’s eyes. “That is the jewel of Gracious Inari herself. Her wish-granting jewel.” She gently closed Michiko’s hands around the stone. “And she will come for it herself.”

Michiko's eyes brimmed with tears, as she looked at the pulsing, warm jewel in her hands. Aka had stolen the gem for her, this precious gem, to give her a wish from the Goddess. For a mortal to discover the stone brought great fortune for the finder, and Aka had left it so that she would find it.

“Aka-chan,” she whispered.

The young kitsune’s arms wrapped around her tightly from behind. “I want you to be happy, Michiko-san,” she whispered. “Now, you can be.”


	15. Chapter 15

Michiko was numb with shock.

Aka's grandmother had vanished in a flurry of white fur and many tails, to see out her Mistress, leaving Michiko and Aka in the tense stillness in the temple. Inari-dono's jewel still rested in Michiko's palms, pulsing like a heartbeat against her flesh.

"Aka-chan," she whispered. "Aka-chan, what have you done?"

The kitsune whimpered softly. "Are you angry too, Michiko-san?" she asked tearfully. She was clinging to Michiko from behind, her cheek against Michiko's shoulder. "Please do not be angry. You were so sad. I only wanted to help you to be happy."

"I am not angry," Michiko said, looking down at the jewel. "But I am afraid." She twisted about to face the young kitsune. "Aka-chan, you should not have stolen from your mistress."

The kitsune rocked back on her heels, hugging her bare knees. "It is not stealing when you know it will be given back at once," she protested. "You said you would give it back and you shall. It was only borrowing for a little while. Borrowing to help you be happy."

Michiko looked down at the jewel. "What if Inari-dono is angry?" she asked, her voice trembling. "What if she punishes you?"

Aka buried her face in her knees, as if it could stop her thinking about such things, and keened quietly. Michiko set the jewel in her lap and leaned closer to gather the distressed kitsune in her arms. Aka clung to her, her nails almost claws as she held tight to Michiko. 

Michiko brushed her hand over the kitsune's tangled hair comfortingly. "I will look after you, Aka-chan," she whispered. "You have helped me and I will help you."

They were still tangled together like that when Michiko became aware that they were no longer alone. Her heart drummed against her bones like a bird beating against the bars of a cage as she raised her eyes. Aka's grandmother had returned, and she was accompanied by another.

The person standing by her side was not wholly a woman, but nor were they wholly a man. There was an ambiguity about them that seemed to shift from moment to moment. The robes did not give any indication of who they were, the features of her face grave and stern. The same power that had glittered with madness in Susano-o's eyes was there, but steady and calm as the summer sea. 

Michiko trembled, releasing Aka to prostrate herself upon the stone floor, her fingertips resting together as she pressed her forehead to the ground between her arms. "O-Inari Daimyoujin-dono," she whispered. She heard Aka's frightened whimper, and felt the young kitsune pressed against her. 

"Raise your head, Michiko-chan," the deity murmured. The voice was low, mellifluous. 

Michiko lifted her eyes, trembling. For all that Susano-o had blustered and stormed and been crude and unpleasant, his pride could be managed. It was not so for Inari. She was calm, with no sign of emotion or temper. Her mood was not written on her features. She was not someone to be trifled with, and if angered, Michiko knew her wrath would be terrible. 

The God knelt upright, her long-fingered hands resting in her lap. Her black eyes remained on Michiko's face, studying her. Michiko knew it was likely her imagination, but she was sure she could feel the deity searching through her thoughts, intentions, and memories. 

Wordlessly, Michiko picked up the glowing stone from her lap. It was warmer than before, and her hands shook beneath it. "Please, Inari-dono, allow me to return your possession to you."

The jewel was plucked from her hand, and Michiko bowed low again. 

"Please forgive Aka-chan, Inari-dono," she whispered. "She meant no ill."

"That, I know, Michiko-chan," Inari murmured. "I know the minds of all of my servants." Her black eyes drifted to Aka, who shrank flat upon her belly. She had resumed her fox shape and her muzzle was hidden beneath her paws. "Her intentions were born of loyalty." Inari's eyes returned to Michiko. "Such loyalty to one not of her blood."

Michiko looked up at her fearfully. "She is my friend, Inari-dono," she whispered. "She takes care of me and I of her."

The God gazed at her placidly. "You offered yourself to the oni who haunts this temple," she said, "to save your kin."

"Yes, Inari-dono." Michiko's mouth felt dry as old bone. 

One of Inari's long fingers tapped against the smooth surface of her jewel. "Yet, when you were cast out, you did not return to those of your blood."

Michiko lowered her eyes. "Yes, Inari-dono," she whispered. "I returned to the oni, for he had more need of me than my family."

"You choose a demon over your own kin."

Michiko looked up. "I choose a man who has lost all hope over my kin, who are well and prosperous, Inari-dono," she said with quiet defiance. "He may be an oni, but it was not always so. I have seen him weep for the child he has lost. I have felt his grief and his love. I know that he has lost much because he dared to seek that which was stolen from him. He is no demon."

Inari's eyes remained on her face, and Michiko lowered her gaze, wondering if perhaps she had misstepped or offended the Goddess.

"Leave us," Inari murmured, dismissing the ancient kitsune by her side with a gesture. "Take the young one."

Aka keened, nuzzling at Michiko's sleeve, before slinking fearfully after her grandmother. 

Michiko looked up uneasily.

Inari's face was expressionless. "You speak boldly," she murmured. "Do you fear?"

"I would be foolish not to, Inari-dono," Michiko whispered, her mouth so dry. "I am but a mortal in a world of the divine and the powerful. I only try to appear brave in hopes that bravery might follow."

The Goddess lifted the jewel between her hands. The warm glow from it pulse between her long fingers, casting golden hues about. "Aka-chan stole my jewel for your benefit," she murmured. "She believed you were worthy to find it, that you deserved the wish you might be granted." The Goddess's black eyes seemed flecked with fire. "Do you believe yourself worthy, Michiko-chan?"

"I know I am not, Inari-dono," Michiko said quietly. "I did not ask this of Aka-chan."

"Indeed," Inari said, closing her hands around the stone, concealing the bright light for a moment. She was silent and still for so long that Michiko almost believed she had vanished from the mortal world. The shadows seemed to draw about them, and when she spoke, her voice resonated with power that made Michiko shiver to her bones. "You found the jewel, Michiko-chan. You may have one wish for one person. No more, no less."

Michiko's heart pounded a wild beat. "For one person, Inari-dono? It does not need to be a wish for myself?"

The Goddess's expression did not change, but for a brief moment, Michiko was sure she felt quiet approval. "One person," she repeated. "You may choose on whom you bestow your fortune."

Michiko's head felt light. "Must it be someone who walks in the mortal lands, Inari-dono," she asked, her voice trembling. 

"It must," the Goddess murmured. "This is a wish to be granted to one limited by the boundaries of the mortal world, a chance to - for once - reach beyond it."

Michiko lowered her eyes to her hands which were trembling in her lap. She knew what she would wish for. Of course she knew. The oni was so unhappy that it made her heart ache with grief for him. If he was happy, then she might be also, in the knowledge that he was well. 

She took a trembling breath and raised her eyes to Inari, who was watching her with expectation. "You have power over transformations, Inari-dono," she whispered, "and of crossing boundaries."

Inari inclined her hair, dark hair sliding over her shoulder. "It is so, Michiko-chan."

"Can..." Her voice was trembling so much with the thought of it, that she could barely comprehend her own words. "Can an oni be returned to that which he was?"

Inari's head dipped in a graceful nod.

Michiko pressed her hands to her lips. If he could be returned to his native state, with his son, as they were before Susano-o's interference, then he could live as he should have. But if that was done...

She was not wholly unselfish, and though it shamed her, the thought of a life without the oni was like a blade to the heart. 

"Must the decision be made now?" she asked.

The Goddess lifted her hand and leaned closer to rest her palm on Michiko's bowed head. "Time may be given," she murmured, and for the first time, there was kindness in her tone. "A wish must be made with care, for all the repercussions that may follow." She drew back her hand, then turned it over, palm up. A tiny figurine carved of white stone rested in her palm, in the shape of a fox. "When the wish is made, place this upon a red string about the neck of the one that the wish is for."

Michiko took the tiny fox in fingers made clumsy with emotion, fear, and hope. "Thank you, Inari-dono," she whispered. 

"You have returned what is mine, without question or hesitation, child," Inari murmured, rising. Her robes rippled about her. "Few would be so honest." She brushed her hand lightly against Michiko's hair. "Consider carefully and wish wisely, Michiko-chan."

All at once, she was gone.

The birds which had been silent for so long started to sing once more, and Michiko turned the medallion in her hand. It glittered strangely, with the same light that seemed to shine from Inari's jewel. It was warm, and she could feel the power contained within it.

A wish from Inari. A wish that could reunite the oni and his son, if she used it wisely.

Her eyes brimmed with uncalled for tears, and she brought up her sleeve to capture them. 

She had no notion how long she sat there, gazing at the stone fox in her hand, but she startled when she heard footfalls nearby.

"Michiko-sama?" The oni was standing at the edge of the room, shedding the offerings he had gathered in their baskets. 

She managed to smile. With him before her, the decision was easily made. "Oni-sama," she said, brushing hastily at her cheeks. "I did not expect you back so soon."

He eyed her uncertainly. "It is nightfall, Michiko-sama," he said, approaching her. "Is something the matter?"

Michiko rose on aching limbs and approached him, clasping his forearm with one hand. "I am well," she whispered. "Oh, Oni-sama, I am very well." The tears broke from her eyes anew. "I have found a way for you to be reunited with Kazuo-chan."

He flinched back, as if struck. "Do not lie to me, Michiko-san," he growled. "That is too much like unkindness."

She shook her head, smiling. "It is no lie, Oni-sama," she whispered, opening her hand.

The oni stared down at the carved fox in her hand. She could see his breath catch, and knew he recognised what he was looking at. "Where did you get that?" he asked, his voice little above a growl. His eyes rose to her face, searching her features as if she had been possessed by some dangerous spirit. "Michiko-sama, what have you done?"

She lifted her hand to touch his cheek. "I have been granted a wish, Oni-sama," she said. "Will you accept it?"

He brought his hand up to cover hers. "But what is the cost, Michiko-sama?" he asked, shaking his head. 

"There is no price, Oni-sama," Michiko whispered. "Please, will you accept my wish?"

He stared at her, searching her features. "There is always a price," he said quietly. "It cannot be so easy."

She drew her hand from his cheek and caught one of his, laying the carving in his hand and closing his fingers around it. "It is simple, Oni-sama," she said. "Would you be together with Kazuo-chan again?"

"Yes," he whispered. "If the Gods be merciful, yes."

"Then I wish it so," she said. "Oni-sama, I wish for you to be with your son, as you were, before the wrath of Susano-o fell upon you, and that you were safe from his attentions."

His eyes widened, as if her words had suddenly made sense. "And you, Michiko-sama?" he demanded, catching her hand. "What of you?"

Her eyes were hot with tears. "That does not matter, Oni-sama," she whispered, her voice breaking. "You will be with Kazuo-chan."

He brought her hand to press to his cheek. "I cannot lose you, Michiko-sama."

"You have a choice, Oni-sama." Her voice was lost in tears. "A promise of Kazuo-chan or me. I cannot stand between you and your son, Oni-sama. I cannot!"

The oni keened low in his throat, rubbing his cheek against her hand. "Michiko-sama..."

"Please, Oni-sama," she whispered. "I will give you my wish. I will give you back your son. Will you have it?"

He searched her face, and she knew he was feeling the same grief she had been battling since Inari left her. "Yes," he whispered, "and we will find you, Michiko-sama. Somehow, we shall. We are bound, you and I. Even if I am not as I am, even if they tear my memories from me, I will find you."

She drew back, her cheeks hot and wet, and went to the chest. There was a reel of red string there. It trembled in her hand as she took the fox from him and bound it up. "You must wear this," she said, trying her utmost to keep her voice steady.

He bowed his head and allowed her to place the pendant around his neck. His hands closed hers around the fox, and he looked her in the eyes, drinking in her features, as if to score her into his memories. "Why do you do this?" he asked, his voice as shaken as her own. "Michiko-sama, why?"

Her tears fell hot upon their joined hands. "You know why, Oni-sama," she whispered. She took a shaking breath. "I wish for you to be with your son, as you were before you fell before Susano-o's wrath, and that would you be safe with your child from his interference for ever more."

She did not know what to expect, but the jewel glowed hot and bright in her hand, and she had to close her eyes against its light.

The pressure of the oni's hands around her faded to nothing, and all was dark around her as she opened her eyes once more.

The temple was empty, deserted. The oni was gone.

Michiko sank to her knees, burying her face in her palms, and wept.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inari - by coincidence, I always intended to have Inari feature, since the white kitsune are her messengers, but I had absolutely no idea she's not only the Goddess of transformation but also of change and boundaries and crossing them. How about that? Hindbrain working overtime :D


	16. Chapter 16

The weather had turned cold.

Michiko did not remain at the temple long.

With the oni gone, the buildings felt lonely and forbidding, like a body without a soul. Aka-chan nestled beside her, offering her companionship, but all that had been the oni's was gone: the clothing he had gifted to her, the ink-stones, the dishes. All that made the place habitable had vanished with its master. 

Michiko tried not to weep, but the tears came unexpectedly, and she was exhausted.

"I must return home," she told Aka-chan in a raw whisper. "I cannot remain here, now that he is gone."

Aka whimpered softly. "Michiko-san, I did not want you to be sad," she said, rubbing her chin against Michiko's shoulder. "I have made you sad because the oni is gone." She wrapped her arms around Michiko tightly. "I will take you home, and I will stay with you until you are happy again."

"Aka-chan, you cannot leave your family," Michiko protested quietly.

"You did, to keep them safe," Aka said determinedly. "Now, I shall leave mine to help you be happy."

The kitsune brooked no refusal, even when others of her kin emerged from other buildings in the ruined village. They all gathered about Aka, touching her hair and her limbs, though none of them dared to approach Michiko. Her grandmother appeared as they approached the broken torii that marked the edge of the village.

"So you will return home, Chiko-chan," the old kitsune said.

"I will, Kitsune-sama," she replied, bowing deeply. "I know that you and your kin will take care of these forgotten places."

The kitsune's eyes gleamed. "We shall, Chiko-chan," she said. "These are our places once more."

Michiko looked at her, wondering if the reason that the old kitsune had been so eager to aid her was simply to drive the oni from their lands. It could not be so, she thought, for the kitsune could not imagine she would sacrifice her own happiness for the oni's. She said nothing, bowing low once more. It would not be proper to accuse the kitsune, not when the oni and his son were free.

She and Aka stepped through the torii and into the world.

It felt like another realm, brighter, sharper, all in focus.

For the first time since her eyes had been opened, Michiko was looking at the mortal world beyond the temple, and it stole her breath. She could taste the distant woodsmoke from villages many miles away. She could hear the ripple of the stream as it turned into the roar of the river. The leaves were a riot of a colour, and she stumbled, leaning heavily on Aka's arm.

"Michiko-san?" Aka asked anxiously. "Are you ill?"

Michiko shook her head. "I will be well," she whispered. "I only need to learn to live as a mortal once more."

It grew easier with each day, though it was an ongoing trial. 

They had to make the journey that had taken the oni but a handful of hours on foot through the mountains. Forests opened into country roads before them, and Michiko's bare feet blistered then hardened as the days went on.

Aka walked by her side, sometimes in her fox form, other times as a girl when they were near other people. All the same, when they reached villages, the villagers looked at her with wary suspicion, as if they could see what lay beneath the bright-eyed girl's flesh.

Michiko herself was treated with reverence, though she knew she must look like some half-mad wild woman, clad in layers of travel-worn kimono, her hair tied back with strands of vine to keep it from tangling. Food was pressed into their hands, and the villagers begged for her blessing. She could not refuse, speaking soft prayers over the sick and the children. She had the mark of the Gods upon her, she heard them whisper. She was Miko in truth.

Michiko preferred the days when she and Aka were alone in the forest.

They sheltered beneath the trees when the rains came, huddled together beneath her robes. They would share the food that had been given to them as offerings. They drank water from streams. They walked for many hours each day until they ached with weariness. 

Only when the mountains became familiar did Michiko stop to consider the repercussions of all but returning from death. It was true she had not died, but those who walked into the hands of the Gods and demons seldom returned. 

Aka found her sitting on the ledge of a cliff, overlooking the valley, before dawn.

It was cold, with the first brush of frost on the trees.

"Michiko-san," Aka whispered. 

Michiko did not turn. "That is my village, Aka-chan," she said quietly, looking down at the scatter of buildings.

Barely six months had gone by, but it seemed larger than she remembered. There were new houses at the edges of the village, some of them only half-finished. With the oni's intervention and the threat of invasion quashed, it looked like they had thrived.

Aka knelt behind her, putting her arms around Michiko's middle. "Do you want to stay here?" she asked in a whisper. "You do not seem happy to return."

"I am happy," Michiko said quietly. "I will see my family again." She covered Aka's hand at her waist. "But I am not as I was when I departed. They will not forget that."

Aka nuzzled her shoulder. "You are better than they know, Michiko-san," she said. "We can go now. You can see your father by dawn."

Michiko closed her eyes and nodded. "My father," she said softly. "I have missed him."

The kitsune helped her to her feet and brushed moss and leaves from her kimono. "Shall I come with you, Michiko-san?" she asked. "Or is it better I stay in the forest?" Michiko hesitated, and Aka understood. "I will wait for you on the edge of the forest, if you need me," she said, butting her head against Michiko's shoulder. 

"I shall, Aka-chan," Michiko said quietly, "But I would see my father alone." She lifted a hand to stroke the kitsune's hair. "Sleep, if you will. Or play. These lands are kind."

Aka nodded, though she didn't leave Michiko's side until they reached the stone guardians which stood at the very edge of the village. Michiko looked from one to the other, remembering the night when she had walked through them with the oni and her world had become something new and wonderful and terrifying.

The fox wound around her ankles, nuzzling at her knees. 

"I will be well," Michiko said quietly, touching her hands to each of the guardians. She could feel the strength of them, the faith of the people who resided in the village. It was a good place, she knew. It was home.

She walked between the statues, following the path through the shrine-filled forest towards her home. The peace there drew the weight of grief from her as if it were a rain-sodden kimono. She remembered walking there before, and paused at the shrines as she passed, bowing her head, murmuring and acknowledgement.

By the time she emerged into the heart of the village, the sun was cresting the mountains, and she walked towards the house that had been her home for much of her life. Her father would already be abroad. He was not one to sleep when the sun was up.

Michiko swallowed down her fear and mounted the steps. She had not walked so many hundreds of miles only to stand at a closed door. She put her hands to the panels of the door and pushed them wide.

Her father was there, sitting in the middle of the room, his cup of morning tea cradled in his hands. His eyes widened, and he instinctively made the sign against evil. But a heartbeat later, he gasped softly, "Chiko-chan?"

Michiko went to her knees and bowed low to him. "Otosama," she whispered, her throat closed up with tears.

He crossed the floor to draw her up on her knees, staring at her as if she were a ghost. "Chiko-chan?" he said again. "You have returned?"

She could not speak, the words caught in her throat like a bone, and she could only nod.

His hands touched her cheeks gently, as if to assure himself that she was real.

"Chiko-chan," he whispered, gathering her in his arms like a child. 

She would have happily stayed there, but all too soon, there were people and there was noise, and she felt caught up in the tides of emotion. Many were joyful, many were shocked, but there were also those who were afraid. She felt dozens of eyes searching her features, as if they could scarcely understand what she had done and why she had returned.

The day was full of feasting and celebration, but Michiko felt drained and exhausted.

She knew she looked more like a beggar, and she knew that not all wished her there. 

If she had fallen from the oni's favour, she heard them whisper, then who would defend them from their enemies now? She was too weary to remind them that if she had not gone, each man among them would have been slain. That they lived to defend themselves now was because of her.

She sat quietly at her father's side, sharing from his bowl, and drinking from his cup. Her aunt sat by her other side, touching her from time to time, as if to assure herself that Michiko had truly returned. 

Some faces around the great fire at the centre of the village were familiar, others were not. Her father told her with pride that their village had become a refuge and their population had grown and brought greater prosperity thanks to her sacrifice. People, he informed her, prayed to her name.

Michiko wanted to weep.

"I am no spirit to be worshipped," she whispered, but he hardly seemed to hear her, too happy at her return.

When night fell and she pleaded exhaustion, the gathering dispersed. She was ushered home, the chamber she had once slept in cleared and open to her, but the walls felt like they were closing in on her. It had been so long since she had been enclosed and it felt like she could not breathe.

On silent feet, she crept from the house.

They had ushered her to the hot springs before the gathering, then dressed her in fresh kimono and groomed her. She almost looked as she had. She could almost pretend she was as she had been, but as she stepped out into the night, she knew what she was. 

She could have worn geta, but it felt clumsy and strange, a world away from the place where she had found herself. The ground of the village was dry and firm and she walked to the edge of the forest, a small basket of food in her hands. She was not surprised to see Aka waiting for her, her tails wrapped around her paws.

Michiko sank to sit on the mossy ground beside her. "I have brought you food, Aka-chan," she whispered.

The kitsune shifted into her human form, sitting beside her cross-legged. She searched Michiko's features. "Was your father happy to see you, Michiko-san? I saw there was a feast."

Michiko nodded, folding her hands in her lap. "He was very happy," she said softly. 

The kitsune moved closer, leaning against her shoulder. "Are you happy?"

Michiko lowered her eyes. "I think I could be," she said, gazing at her hands, "but not yet."

Aka crooned, nestling against her. "You miss the oni," she whispered. "Still, you miss him."

Michiko nodded wordlessly, trembling as Aka's hands tangled around hers.

They curled together under the light of the cold half-moon. It was only when the sun started to rise that Michiko reluctantly returned to the walled shelter of her father's home. Her aunt met her at the door, but said nothing, only drawing her back to her sleeping place and holding her, and in her aunt's embrace, Michiko wept. 

It felt wrong, to grieve so much to be safely home.

As days turned into weeks, she tried to smile and show herself to be joyful, but her heart still ached with mourning for the loss of the oni. At night, Aka tried to soothe her, and they would often walk in the forest. By morning, her feet would be cracked with cold and aching, but try as she might, she could not return to the civilised world of shoes and propriety. It felt like a betrayal of his memory.

Michiko knew her father was concerned. Her aunt did not know all of what had come to pass, but knew enough to advise him to treat his returned daughter with patience. He was gentle, spoke kindly, and did not question her strange behaviour, but with the turn of the year into the new, he approached her.

She was sitting upon the terrace, her wind-chilled hands resting on her silent koto.

"Chiko-chan," he murmured, kneeling beside her.

She bowed her head. "Otosama," she replied quietly.

"You have been here for many days now," he said. "You have not told me how you escaped."

Michiko laid the koto down and set her hands in her lap. "Is it not enough that I am free?" she asked quietly.

"If you were truly free," her father said, "then yes, but you are not free, Chiko-chan. Some shadow binds you still." He lifted his hand to rest it upon her shoulder. She trembled. "If you were harmed..."

"I was not, Otosama," she whispered. "The oni is gone. He did not harm me and he shall not approach me again."

He breathed out softly, his breath misting before him. "I would have you happy, Chiko-chan," he said. "I would see you married and with child and happy."

Hot tears broke from the corners of her eyes. "It cannot be, Otosama," she sobbed out quietly. "I cannot."

"You can, Chiko-chan," he said gently. "You are a good and brave woman. Your sacrifice has made you worthier than any other woman in the village." The very thought made her tremble: being bound to another man, someone who was not the oni, severing the red string forever as if it had never been there. Her father's hand squeezed her shoulder. "You are not tainted by your time with the oni. He is gone."

She raised her eyes to her father. She could not wed, and would not, not as long as the memory of the oni burned fiercely in her heart. He had promised to find her, no matter the distance, and she could not allow herself to be bound to another. She would not. 

She would have no other man.

With a shock, she recalled that truly, she could have no other man, not even if she wished it so.

"I am tainted, Otosama," she whispered, her voice stronger now, knowing the truth of her situation.

Her father paled by the winter moonlight. "Chiko-chan?"

"I am cursed, Otosama," she said, feeling calm and at peace for the first time since she had returned to her father's home. "Susano-o-dono came to the oni's stronghold. He and the oni were enemies, so he cursed me as the oni's servant." She lowered her head. "I cannot be bound to any man, for if I am, the wrath of Susano-o-dono will fall upon him."

Her father groaned in distress. "Chiko-chan..."

She laid her palms together, then looked up at him. "Do not grieve for me, Otosama," she said softly. 

His hand touched her hair gently, so gently. "What will become of you, Chiko-chan?"

She traced her fingertips along the body of her koto. "I am Miko," she said. "I will give myself to the shrine. If the Gods have some greater plan for me, they shall make it known." A small, fleeting smile crossed her lips. "With my blessings, you will have any number of young men seeking adoption, Otosama."

"That does not matter," her father protested.

She looked at him, grave. She felt so much older, so much wiser than she had been when she first walked from the village. "Yes, it does," she said. "You must have a son, Otosama." She took his hand between hers. It was broad and warm. "I would see you happy."

He searched her features. "You are sure this is your path?"

She inclined her head, her hair sliding thick and heavy over her shoulders. "I will speak to the priests on my own terms," she said. She remembered confronting Susano-o. She remembered speaking with Inari. She remembered the passage of another soul within her body. "If they are wise, they will listen."

Her father shook his head slowly, wonderingly, gazing at her. "Truly, Michiko-san," he said, "you are a woman of the Gods now."


	17. Chapter 17

There was a small building in the grounds of the shrine.

It was barely large enough for a grown man to lie flat in, but for Michiko, it proved sufficient in size and comfort. It had a small fire pit, and fresh tatami were laid. The moss was so thick upon the roof that it kept the small house warmer and drier than some of those in the village.

The Priests, to Michiko’s surprise, did not contest her right to be there. 

They welcomed her and when she stated that she would not be servant to them, but to the Gods, they nodded gravely in agreement. One who had walked with spirits and demons and who had taken counsel from Inari-dono herself was to be respected. 

Aka settled there with her, and though kitsune were often distrusted, Michiko knew it only added to her reputation to have the company of the twin-tailed fox. Aka seldom took human form, save when they were alone at night, and if Michiko chose to walk abroad in the village, Aka would scamper along at her side.

Many were fearful of her.

It was strange to see people she knew well from infancy averting their eyes as if she might bring them ill fortune. It pained her, not for shame, but for the fact that she was still Michiko, only a wiser and sterner Michiko than she had been. 

Some still came to her for aid, when the Priests were not enough.

The snows were still deep in the weeks before the new year, and a frantic mother waded through the drifts to reach her in the depths of the night. Her children were sick, and they were not the only ones. Surely the prayers of the Miko and her intervention would do far more than any Priests and chants.

Michiko followed the woman back through the village. She could feel eyes on her as she passed, still barefoot, still clad in the simplest of robes. Her father was the wealthiest man in the village, but that was not her world anymore.

The lantern cut a golden slice ahead of them and Michiko stopped short at the sight of several families waiting for her. They had all gathered in one place, she realised. If she was to bring ill-fortune, they intended it to only fall on one house, but all of them wished to reap the benefits if she brought good fortune.

She stepped up onto the wooden terrace, her feet cold and aching.

“Miko-sama, please permit me,” the woman whispered feverishly, kneeling with soft cloths to dry and warm her feet.

Michiko looked from face to anxious face. Some she knew, some she didn’t, some did not even dare to look at her. She entered the room, taking in the children, who were held by kin, siblings, parents, all of them pale and weak.

“What manner of sickness is upon them?” she asked quietly.

“Fever, Miko-sama,” the woman replied in hushed tones. “Some of them cough. Some of them sleep so deeply we fear they shall not wake. Many cannot rise from their sleeping places.” She hovered nervously at Michiko’s side, as Michiko knelt and laid her hand on the brow of one of the infants. The child’s face was flushed and she shivered at the touch of Michiko’s cold hand.

She recognised the illness. It was one that had ravaged the village before. The children were the most vulnerable, and the weakest seldom survived. This was no divine retribution, she knew, but divine aid might well be enough to save them.

“Bring all those who sicken to this house,” she said without looking up. The child was watching her fearfully, and she did not wish to look away. She stroked the girl’s sweat-damped hair soothingly. “I will tend them, and I alone.”

“Miko-sama…”

“Do not question me,” Michiko said quietly. If all those who were sick were gathered in one place, then those who were not might yet avoid the illness. “Bring them all here. This shall be where I tend them all. Now.”

To her astonishment, they heeded her words. The crowds scattered, leaving the children in her care, some wailing and whimpering, some silent and frightened. She laid them as close to the fire as she could, knowing well that some of them might not last the coming days. More joined them, and reluctantly, the parents withdrew.

Michiko closed the doors of the house.

“Michiko-san,” Aka whispered. “This is not good.”

Michiko closed her eyes, her hands resting against the door. “I know, Aka-chan,” she said quietly, “but they are my people and I must do what I can.” She turned and approached the children. Those who were alert enough were watching her and Aka uncertainly. She knelt and looked about at them. “I will take care of you,” she promised. “This is my vow.”

She could not say what happened in the days that followed. She prayed until her lips were cracked and bleeding. She soothed the fevers. She comforted the frightened. Sleep was a long forgotten friend, and her head was heavy with exhaustion. 

Each morning, food was delivered to the door, and each night, she would kindle a stronger flame, kneeling close to it and fixing her eyes on the heart of it, praying with all the faith she had for mercy, for kindness, for the protection of any deity who might be listening. Visions and images of such beauty danced across her mind’s eye as she watched the flame, and she could believe, truly believe, that someone was listening. 

Slowly, day by day, the children recovered, even the very weakest. One by one, they were released to the world, like butterflies emerging from a cocoon, returning to their families and welcomed as if they had returned from death itself. 

When the final child was able to rise from her sickbed, Michiko rose too and walked out into the daylight. Much of the village was awaiting her, and she swayed unsteadily. Her feet felt like they were cased in stone and she could not find the strength to take a step further.

“Michiko-san!” Her father rushed to her, and she was grateful that he did, for her caught her arm before she could fall.

She looked at him wearily. “I am very tired, Otosama,” she whispered.

“You have done well,” he murmured. “Very well.”

She smiled as much as she could, and let him lifted her as lightly as a child, and carry her home to the shrine. He remained with her there, as she sank into sleep, Aka curled against her back to warm her.

How long she slept for, she did not know, but when she woke, he was still there, dozing, his chin resting upon his chest.

Michiko sat up slowly, aching with lingering weariness. 

He stirred. “Michiko-san?”

“I am well, Otosama,” she murmured.

“You saved them,” he said quietly. “All of them.”

“I only prayed, Otosama,” she demurred quietly. “I did nothing.”

He cupped her cheek gently in his palm. “You did more than any believed possible,” he said softly. “You have done wonders.”

It seemed he was not the only one to believe so. Small offerings and tokens were left on the snow-covered steps of her home. When she walked abroad, the fear was not so strong. It had been replaced with something like awe, which disconcerted her almost as much as the fear itself. It seemed they truly believed the Gods moved through her.

Some only sought her for a prayer, but others believed her good will could be bartered for.

Hideo was such man.

There once had been murmurs that she would wed him before the oni claimed her, and those murmurs, he had not forgotten, especially now that she was considered the talisman of good fortune for all of those who sheltered in the village.

He approached her when she was gathering food at market one afternoon.

“Michiko-san,” he said, bowing low.

She looked up at him. He always towered over her. “Hideo-kun,” she murmured. “I hope you are well.”

“I am, Michiko-san,” he said, “but I think I would have been much better if we had followed our true courses.”

She looked at him in confusion. “I am sorry, Hideo-kun,” she said. “I do not understand.”

“Our names were bound, Michiko-san,” he said, “and now, I am told we cannot be married.”

Michiko almost laughed aloud. “Ah, yes,” she said. She bowed solemnly. “I am sorry that it is true, Hideo-kun, but it cannot be, for your well-being as well as my own.”

He frowned, sternly. “Your father said you have been cursed,” he said.

Michiko nodded. “It is so,” she said.

His expression darkened. “You do not seem cursed,” he said. “You seem blessed.”

“There is a great difference, Hideo-kun,” she said, forcing her voice to remain steady, “in seeming and being.” She gathered up her basket and inclined her head solemnly. “As you seem like a civilised man.”

It took her a dozen paces before he understood the insult.

It was childish, she knew, but she was feeling sick to her stomach. If Hideo, who had once been considered a friend of her family, believed she lied, how many others would? Fewer now, perhaps, because of her care of the infants, but she did not like to be considered deceptive.

His thoughts were still bent towards her, she knew. Two days later, the day before the new year celebrations, he came to her home. Aka was working herself into a frenzy of fury at the man’s nerve.

“I should creep upon while he sleeps and bite him,” she snarled quietly. “He has no need to come here and press his manner upon you.”

Michiko laid her hand on Aka’s hair. “He is only a man,” she said. “I am not afraid of a man.” She pushed her door open to see him standing there, as he had been for some time, his hands folded within his sleeve. “Hideo-kun.”

“Michiko-san,” he said. 

“If you have come to ask for me to bind myself to you, it shall not happen,” she said. “I cannot and will not see you harmed for your folly.”

He was up the step in a heartbeat. “I will have you, Michiko-san,” he snapped, grasping her by the arms. “You were mine once, and you shall be again.”

Aka was crouched in the corner, fur bristling, her teeth bared, but Michiko held out a hand to calm her, her eyes on Hideo. He was a man, and as such, men believed they could do as they will. If he wanted her, he would have her, and if he had her, he would die. It was simple.

“If you touch me, you shall die,” she said quietly.

“Ha! A lie!”

She looked at him, her expression calm. “No lie,” she said. “Susano-o decreed it so. I am tainted by my association with the oni. Any man who dares touch me will succumb to his wrath. He is not a kind God, Hideo-kun, and if you touch me, I will not beg for your life.”

He stared at her, then snorted, pushing her to the floor.

Michiko fought as much as she could, but Hideo was large and strong, and he did not know she fought for his life as much as her own virtue. He froze suddenly, and she flinched, expecting pain, but none came. He was dragged away from her, and she squinted in the darkness. 

“You will leave Michiko-sama alone,” Aka growled. She was crouched over Hideo, a creature halfway between fox and human, her claws sharp against his throat. “If you harm her again, you need not fear Susano-o-dono’s wrath for I will eat you in your sleep.”

“Aka-chan,” Michiko gasped out. “Let him go.”

Aka’s teeth were sharp and white by the moonlight. “I should bite him,” she snarled. “A reminder.”

“Aka-chan!” Michiko cried.

The kitsune hissed at the fallen man, then slunk back to Michiko’s side, shifting back to her true fox form. She was still growling, low and steady, and remained there, Michiko’s hand resting on her head. 

“You will leave, Hideo-kun,” Michiko said, her voice trembling. “You will not come near me or this shrine again. If ill fortune favours you, you shall know why.” She rose on legs that felt like they were turning to water. “Get out.”

He scrambled backwards, on his hands, all but falling out of the house, and Michiko sank to her knees, putting her arms around Aka. 

“Thank you, Aka-chan,” she whispered.

The kitsune crooned, nuzzling her cheek.

It seemed that Hideo did not say anything to anyone, for they were left in peace after that, though Michiko felt much more cautious about venturing out into the village. She did not attend the festivities for the new year, closing herself away with Aka and a small feast, rather than crossing Hideo’s path again.

She was not afraid of him, but if one such as he believed fortune could be stolen by taking a maiden of the Gods, he would not be alone.

It was safer for all concerned if she remained at the shrine, attending the villagers when they called upon her, but at peace with nature otherwise. It almost felt like she was back at the temple, and sometimes, she found herself looking up in expectation of the oni’s return when Aka opened the door.

It was a foolish hope, for if he was as he had been, he would not know her, and she would not know him, for his face would be human and strange to her eyes. The red cord that had bound them now bound Inari’s charm, keeping him mortal and safe and far from her side.

The snows of winter melted little by little, and the turn of the seasons was palpable.

Early one spring morning, it all changed.

Michiko opened the door of the small room to find a slender branch with budding leaves lying on the terrace. There was a tattered fragment of paper wrapped around it. Michiko stared at it uncertainly, then cautiously picked it up.

The paper had faded writing on it, but when she unrolled it from the branch, there was fresher ink. It took her a moment to understand what she was looking at, for the writing was childlike, clumsy, phonetic lettering rather than elegant kanji.

It was a waka.

As crude as the brushstrokes were and simplistic as the lettering was, when read aloud, it was a beautiful piece: With the new year, will the solitary moon continue to hide her face behind hazy cloud?

Michiko dropped branch and waka both.

No one had ever composed waka for her, save the oni, and this was not his. He did not write, and so it could not be his. She could not allow herself to take notice of a new suitor, not even if he offered waka - albeit badly-written. The oni was gone and she was cursed. She would be a Miko. That was her life. No man would die because she dared to look at them.

She retreated into the house, looking at her hands. He had to be driven away. This admirer could not remain interested, for if he did, and she showed an interest in him…

Michiko shuddered at the thought. It was terrible enough to think of Hideo falling beneath Susano-o’s curse, but for someone who offered poetry? Someone who aimed high above their rank and station? Someone who noticed she closed herself from the world? Someone who was decent and respectful?

With trembling hands, she sought her ink stone and brush. They were two of the few treasures she had brought from her father’s house. She smoothed a piece of paper out and gazed at it, before writing in ornate and complex kanji: The moon rests peaceful in her lofty bed, only stars her companions. 

It was subtle, she thought, subtle enough to indicate she did not seek his favour, whoever he was. 

As the ink dried, she snapped the branch in half, though not without regret. Self-consciously, she snapped one of the smaller budding branches off, keeping it, then wrapped her message about the broken pieces.

The message vanished by nightfall, collected by unseen hands.

Michiko put it from her mind, though the tiny budded branch, she set in the corner of the room in a small bowl of water. 

It bloomed three days later. 

She ventured out into the village to visit her father with Aka, and by the time she returned to her home, another clumsily-written message was waiting on her doorstep: From his hilltop, the rabbit turns his face silver in the moonlight.

Michiko blushed, looking out into the forest, wondering if the admirer was somewhere out there now, or if he had seen her on the way to her father’s. 

It took her a day to come up with a response: Many look up, but few look down when seated in the heavens.

It was frustrating, to know there was someone who would trade words with her, but she could not allow it for his safety.

Aka sniffed at the letters curiously. “It is not from the big man,” she said. “I think you should keep writing to this one.”

Michiko shook her head, laying the message outside the door. “It would not end well,” she said. 

“But it makes you smile,” Aka pointed out.

It was true, and that was what scared Michiko more than anything. 

She did not imagine she would ever smile again, and if she did, if Susano-o spoke true, she could not allow herself to care. It was not helped that each time she ventured to the village, a new message would arrive for her, delivered by some light-footed child no doubt.

She did not wish to care, nor be touched by such attentions, not when so many looked at her in fear. She wished she had the nerve to destroy the waka as they came, but she could no more do that than she could dismiss Aka: she needed some manner of comfort in her solitude and if that meant accepting waka from a nameless, faceless stranger…

In the course of their exchanges, the imagery drifted from the moon and watchful rabbits, to the flowers that were blooming - in his case - or still closed against the late chills - in hers. She was ashamed how much pleasure she took in challenging his imagery with her own, and as Aka observed, each message made her smile. 

She had close to ten carefully hidden away in her small box when the blossom were in bloom. Like many in the village, she gathered by the riverbank to admire the floral display as the fruit trees came alive. 

To her surprise, the next message that arrived was bound to an aromatic branch, cut deftly from a tree, but it was no cherry or plum blossom. Michiko stared at the branch. It was pine. She felt light-headed, and put her hand to her mouth.

“Michiko-san?” Aka said in concern. “Is it bad?”

Michiko swallowed hard, forcing back the wave of grief that threatened to engulf her. “I must read it,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “Please, bring it to me.”

The kitsune nodded, carrying the slender piece of wood to her. The fine, dark leaves pricked at Michiko’s fingers as she unlaced the waka, opening it out in her hand.

The cherry blossoms caught on the wind fall on willow and pine alike.

The tiny piece of paper fluttered from her fingers. There were tears on her face again, she knew. Willow and pine. 

“How could he know?” she whispered, as Aka scrambled into her arms, holding her tight, trying to soothe her. “Aka-chan, I must find out who this man is.”

“We will,” Aka promised. “We will find him.”

And unspoken, she heard the kitsune’s whisper of “and if he makes you weep again, I will hurt him”.


	18. Chapter 18

It took some time for Michiko to compose a new waka.

Every time she looked at the message, the branch, it brought back recollections of the night that the oni had first used those words. Aka knew better than to ask. She nestled against Michiko’s side, offering what comfort she could for emotions she did not understand.

When Michiko finally put brush to paper, her hand shook so much that it took her three attempts to write the waka. It was simple, neither encouraging or discouraging: The willow watches her leaves fall, carried away by the stream. She broke a twig from the pine branch and twisted the piece of paper around it.

“You must hide in the forest,” she told Aka. “Watch for the person who will come to take the message. If you must, follow them and see where they live.”

Aka nodded solemnly. “If it is the big man, I will bite him hard,” she said.

Michiko looked down at the clumsy writing. It looked like it had been written by a child’s hand, but the words were those of a full-grown adult. “No,” she said quietly. “It would not be Hideo-kun. He could not construct such imagery, and his brushwork is better.”

She rose, the waka in her hand. Though it was only paper, it felt as heavy as a rock. In part, she did not want to know who was behind such words, but she could not allow the exchanges to continue when they brought forth such painful memories. The way the imagery coincided was sharp and shocking, and she knew it would break her heart anew.

Michiko laid the waka on the top step of their small home, and weighted it with a stone so it would not be blown away. Aka scampered down the steps beside her, in fox form once more, and darted off into the undergrowth. Michiko drew a trembling breath, then picked up her empty basket and set out in the direction of the market.

All eyes turned to her, some briefly, some lingering, as she made her way through the market. She had little need to go there, for the offerings that were laid at her door often were enough to feed her and Aka for a week at a time.

Still, she liked to go to the stalls to gather small treats for Aka. She knew the kitsune missed her family, and though mochi and sweet tofu were hardly comforting, they were a little token of her affection for the young kitsune. They often would sit by the light of a lantern in the evening, sharing the sweets and telling tales, as the forest came to life about them.

Her feet carried her to her father’s house too, where she took tea with her aunt. The old women surveyed her critically as they drank and ate small rice cakes.

“You are too thin,” she declared. “Ever since you returned from your journey, you have been all bones.”

“I eat enough,” Michiko demurred quietly.

“This is not a matter of eating,” her aunt said, scrutinising her. “This is a matter of the spirit.” She set down her cup emphatically. “Something happened when you were the oni’s prisoner. Something that still troubles you now.”

Michiko looked down into her cup. “It is done with,” she whispered. “

“Ah!” A bony finger was pointed at her. “So something did happen.” The old woman leaned forward, her dark eyes fixed on Michiko’s face. “You wear the face of a mourning widow, Chiko-chan. I have seen it often enough reflected back at me.” She reached out her hand to take Michiko’s. “Do you mourn this oni?”

Michiko trembled. “Obaasan,” she whispered.

Her aunt squeezed her hand comfortingly. “I wondered at your return,” she confessed quietly. “He demanded a promise of eternity.”

Michiko blinked back tears. “He did,” she whispered. She looked up at her aunt. “He was not cruel, obaasan. He was only lost and trapped, a man who was no longer a man.” She could feel the tears hot upon her cheeks. “I freed him, and that in turn freed me.”

Her aunt brushed the tears gently from her face. “This curse that Susano-o laid upon you,” she said quietly. “Was that part of the matter?”

Michiko laughed unsteadily. “Susano-o believed it would grieve the oni to be bound to me,” she confessed in a trembling voice. “He believed that to be bound to one who could never touch me without killing me would be the cruellest punishment.” She bowed her head, her shoulders shaking with silent sobs. “It was not as cruel as the kindness of Inari, who parted us.”

“Oh, Chiko-chan,” her aunt groaned in sympathy, gathering her in her arms.

It was as if the tangle of emotions that had smothered her broke then, and the grief poured forth. The burden of the secret truth fell away as her aunt held her and soothed her, comforting her and wiping away her tears.

“I am sorry, obaasan,” she finally whispered, curled like a child in her aunt’s arms. “It… it cannot be known. It would bring shame upon our family name, if they knew I was bound to the oni as a wife to her husband. If they knew that it did not displease me.”

Her aunt lifted her face gently. “Let them blame the curse,” she said. “You have done great things, Chiko-chan. You have saved us all. You have saved this oni. You have no reason to feel guilt.” She embraced Michiko again, tenderly. “I only wish that you could be happy, my poor girl.”

“I also,” Michiko confessed, “but he is gone.”

“Dead?” her aunt asked quietly.

Michiko shook her head. “Returned to that which he was,” she said. Her throat ached and her cheeks burned.

Her aunt caressed her cheek. “Then if you are truly bound, by this curse, he will find you.” She smiled her gap-toothed smile. “You shall see.”

Michiko thought of the waka, of the branch. “I cannot remember what it is to hope,” she said quietly, echoing the oni’s words of so long ago. She rose on unsteady legs and bowed deeply. “I must return to the shrine, obaasan. Aka-chan will be waiting for me.”

Her aunt saw her to the door, and watched her go.

Michiko’s steps felt lighter. It was better, she realised, for someone to share the truth. Aka might have known, but Aka was no mortal and she could not understand why Michiko might feel lost and ashamed. For her own flesh and blood to know and to understand was a different matter.

She made her way back through the village, wondering at the relief that was assailing her. She did not dare to hope. How could she? Her obaasan’s faith was touching, but the Gods did not understand the hearts of mankind. Inari-dono had been merciful to the oni, but how could she have known about Michiko’s own thoughts? Even if she knew that Michiko loved the oni, what cause had she to show her kindness?

Aka was sitting on the step, watching for her, when she approached through the trees. She was in her fox form, but shifted into her human form almost at once.

“I found him!” she exclaimed, dashing down the steps. “I found the place where he writes from!”

Michiko almost dropped her basket. “Did you see who it was?” she asked.

Aka shook her head. “All mortal men look the same to me,” she said apologetically. “A boy came and took the message. He did not open it, so I knew it was not him, so I followed him and he ran all the way back through the village with it.”

Michiko’s hands trembled. “Will you show me where he took it?” she asked, her breath coming quickly.

The kitsune nodded eagerly, catching her by the hand. “I will lead you,” she said, and all at once, she was a streak of red fur through the trees.

Michiko hurried after her, her kimono whirling about her legs. It was quieter now, with people returning to their homes as the sun sank, and few paid her any heed as she walked quickly through the town. The dirt roads were cooling beneath her feet as she hurried onwards.

Occasionally, she lost Aka in the bustle of people putting away stalls in the market, but the kitsune always rushed back to find her, waiting for Michiko to catch up. Aka skidded to a halt in the newer quarter of the village. The buildings around them served as both workshops and houses, and she could see lanterns burning within.

The people in these houses, she did not know so well, though some of them were the parents of the sick children she had tended. Many of them were refugees from other villages that had fallen to the enemy who would have invaded these lands, had it not been for Michiko’s sacrifice.

They were inclined to look at her with wary awe, which made her uncomfortable, so she seldom ventured close to that part of the town.

A door opened ahead of them.

Michiko shrank back into the shadows cautiously.

Aka was suddenly by her side, and her hand curled around Michiko’s arm. “That is the boy who fetched your waka, Michiko-san,” she whispered, nodding to the boy, who was carrying a bucket in the direction of the well. “I watched him come here.”

“Have you seen him before?” Michiko asked in a whisper, wondering if perhaps he was one of the children she had tended. The faces had blended together, and not one of them looked as they had when they were in her care, healthy now, bright-eyed.

Aka shook her head. “I do not know his scent,” she replied. She nudged Michiko’s arm. “Will you speak with him?”

Michiko felt like there was a great rock weighting her belly. To know the truth would shatter that fragile hope. She swallowed hard, watching as the boy struggled with the bucket. He was a thin child, with shaggy, unruly hair, and was not strong enough to pull the bucket alone.

She crossed to the well and caught the rope, helping him to pull. The boy yelped in surprise, then wordlessly accepted her aid, both of them hauling until the bucket was resting against the edge of the well. With effort, he lifted it down and turned with a beaming smile that vanished instantly, his eyes widening.

“Miko-sama!” he exclaimed, bowing low. “Thank you!”

Michiko stared at him in shock. She turned, all but running from him until she was out of sight, hidden by the shadows of the nearby houses. She sank against a wall, trembling from head to toe, her hands to her lips.

Aka found her there moments later, curling against her. “What is it, Michiko-sama?” she asked urgently. “What is wrong?”

Michiko’s hands were shaking and she looked at the kitsune. Her world felt like it had slipped beneath her feet and she was could not hold herself upright. “Kazuo-chan,” she whispered. “That was Kazuo-chan.”


	19. Chapter 19

Michiko did not know how long she sat, dazed, in the shadows.

If Kazuo-chan was present, surely that meant his father was present too. If his father was the writer of the waka, then that meant she had been exchanging words with the one man she had longed for, for close to three months. If he had been here all the time...

She stirred in Aka's arms.

"I must see him," she said, stumbling to her feet, grace forgotten.

"Michiko-san." Aka caught her arm, helping her stand. "You look pale."

Michiko did not doubt it. Her breath was coming quick, shallow. Kazuo-chan did not recognise her as the woman who had helped him speak to his father. What then, if his father did not recognise her either? She leaned heavily on Aka's arm. "Please," she whispered, "take me there."

The kitsune nodded, leading her back to the house she had fled from so recently. Michiko's legs were trembling beneath her, for fear of what she may or may not find. The door was still open, and she could hear the clatter of a loom within.

"Michiko-san," Aka whispered uncertainly. "I should not be seen."

Michiko nodded, putting out a hand to steady herself at the door. She looked through the opening into the house. It was a modest building, with a high, sloping roof that resembled praying hands. The lower level looked like it was a workshop for several people. She could see the distant flicker of the fire, no doubt where they cooked and ate.

A woman was there, sweeping the floor with a broom made of long, narrow sticks.

Michiko felt sick to the pit of her stomach.

She had wished the oni was as he had been before Susano-o's intervention, but she had forgotten the reason for Susano-o's intervention at all: the oni had a wife. The woman crouched, gathering up dust and dirt in a flat basket, and turned towards the door.

Michiko did not know which of them was more startled.

The woman leapt to her feet, bowing urgently. "M-Miko-sama!" she babbled. She dropped her brush and bowed deeply, hurrying to the door, to invite Michiko in. "Please! I did not know you were there!" She looked terrified. "How can we help you, Miko-sama?"

Michiko stepped numbly into the room, clasping her hands before her. She was vaguely aware that the rattle of the loom had stopped, and the weaver was moving towards them. "I was only passing," she said quietly. Her hands were trembling, and she forced herself to look up at the man, the weaver.

It felt as if her heart stopped in her chest.

He had no horns, no fangs, no wild, unruly hair. His face was thin, his eyes dark, and his hair streaked with silver, but she knew him. He wore the coarse, homespun fabrics of the lower born, and she could see his hands were callused from hard work as he brought them up before his chest. He was only a man, but she knew him.

He was looking at her as intently as she did him, and she trembled.

"You honour this house, Miko-sama," he said, bowing as deeply as the woman had. 

Miko-sama.

He did not know her.

Michiko's eyes pricked with unwanted tears. "I wished to apologise to the child," she lied. "I fear I startled him."

The man who was once the oni nodded at once, turning and calling, "Kazuo-chan!"

The boy scampered down the ladder from the upper level of the house. "Yes, otosama?" He stopped short, blinking at Michiko. "Hello, Miko-sama."

Michiko bowed politely to him. "Forgive me for startling you, Kazuo-chan," she said. "I did not mean to cause you alarm."

He smiled at her, so different from the weeping, haunted child she had seen standing alone in the rain. "It is all right, Miko-sama," he said. "I would have dropped the bucket if you had not helped me."

She managed to smile. "Then I am glad I helped you," she said, laying her hand briefly on his head. He jumped as if startled, his eyes widening. Michiko bowed her head, turning back to his father and bowed again. "Please excuse me for intruding on you."

The man who was the oni's eyes held hers, and she felt her cheeks flush, and turned, hurrying back through the door. 

She did not stop nor wait for Aka, and by the time she was out of the village and on her way to the shrine, she was running as fast as her feet would carry her. He had a wife already. No matter who he was now, he had a wife, and she had no place in putting herself in his path.

Aka found her at their small home, curled on the floor and weeping as if her heart had been broken all over again. 

The kitsune tangled around her, crooning softly and nuzzled her shoulder, trying to comfort her.

"Is it him, Michiko-san?" she whispered. "Is it?"

Michiko nodded, unable to speak.

"But you are sad," Aka said softly. "Does he know you?"

"No," Michiko's voice broke. "He lives with his woman and his son. He does not remember."

Aka growled low in her throat. "He is a stupid, stupid man," she said, baring her white teeth.

Michiko shook her head. "No, Aka-chan," she whispered. "He is as I wished he would be." She put her hands over her face and fell silent, trembling in the kitsune's thin arms. Aka murmured and crooned, rocking her until tears gave way to exhaustion and she sank into sleep. 

She was woken by the dawn. 

Aka was sitting on the step, the door ajar enough to let in the morning light. She was in her fox form and was gazing down at a scrap of paper tied to a sprig from a willow tree by a scarlet thread. It must have been delivered in the night, and she looked at Michiko silently when Michiko pushed the door wide.

She knew she should leave it, and ignore any further messages, but she picked up the message, tugging loose the thread and unrolling the paper. The words were written in an unsteady hand, and must have been written almost as soon as she left the man's house: Evening breeze, I hear the willow whisper outside my door. 

She laid the paper down.

"I must go to see my father," she said numbly.

She had no real reason, only the comfort that a father could bring. He greeted her at the door, and as soon as they were alone, embraced her like a child. He did not ask the reason, for he knew she would not speak of it, but he stroked her hair tenderly.

"Otosama," she finally asked, when she felt calmer and quiet. "There are newcomers to the village."

"Yes," he said, his fingers still combing gently through her hair. "The men who would have attacked us passed through other villages on their way."

She closed her eyes. "There is a weaver," she said, "in the praying hands house close to the edge of the square. Is he one of them?"

Her father thought for a moment. "They were the ones who arrived latest," he said. "A large group from several small towns. There was an earthquake, I believe. I think there are fifteen or twenty of them." He looked down at her. "They arrived only weeks before you returned."

When she made her wish, then. 

He had been placed on the road with his family and a collection of other refugees, none of whom would know him and he would not know them. Of course he could not return to the place that had been his home, the ruins.

"Thank you, otosama," she said quietly. "I hope they will be happy here."

"I do not doubt it, Chiko-chan," he murmured. 

She felt as if she was borne down with the weight of her sorrow, and she returned to the quiet solitude of her home. It felt better to close the world out, rather than face the loss all over again. Aka would sit with her, pet her hair, and bring her food from the shrine.

She also brought her the messages that arrived every day or so. 

The man who was the oni had not taken her lack of response as discouraging, and his words grew more poignant and appealing with each message, but all she could think of was the woman who lived with him. It was not a crime for a man to part from his wife, but she could not allow herself to be the cause of dividing a family, not when that family had been shattered before.

Aka finally threw her hands up after close to three weeks.

"Michiko-san, you cannot remain so!" she said. "If you do not tell him to leave you be, you will only hurt yourself more by letting him think you might respond."

Michiko was gazing out at the forest. "So I must face him, Aka-chan?" she asked in a voice rasping from disuse.

"Better that than willing yourself into nothing," the kitsune said fiercely, her tails lashing. "You must. It is like a splinter in the skin. Better to tend it than leave it to go bad."

Michiko ran her hand over her face. "You have become wiser than I, Aka-chan," she said.

The kitsune blushed, then turned slightly. "I have another tail," she said, tweaking aside the robe she was wearing and revealing three tails. "I did not want to show it off when you were so sad."

Michiko couldn't help smiling. "My wise kitsune," she said, as the fox girl snuggled against her. 

"A little bit wiser," Aka replied. "Not all grown yet." She nudged her brow against Michiko's. "Will you go and see him? Maybe it will make things better?"

Michiko brushed her fingertips across Aka's hair. "I will try," she promised.

It took several days before she gathered the tattered remains of her courage. Aka stood on the doorstep and watched her go, after wishing her happiness. It felt like a goodbye, which was foolishness. She could not be happy, not with matters as they were, and Aka had promised to stay until she was happy. 

People murmured in greeting to her as she walked through the village. She had made some small effort to be presentable. Her hair was brushed. Her outermost kimono was not as worn and frayed as those beneath. She almost looked like a mortal woman, rather than the holy creature they all seemed to see in her. 

Kazuo-chan was playing in the street with other boys of his own age as she approached, and he ran to her, beaming. "I hoped you would come back!" he said. "I told otosama if he kept writing, you would come back!"

Michiko stared at him. "You told him to write to me?"

Kazuo nodded. He looked like an eager young pup. "He does not know words well, but he wanted to give them to you," he said. "He heard that you liked words."

"Yes," Michiko whispered, her mouth dry. He had learned of her? Why would he do such a thing, when he had no idea who she was? "I do." She took a shaking breath. "Is your father here, Kazuo-chan?"

He nodded, offering her his hand.

So few people dared to touch her that she could only stare at him for a moment, then laid her hand against his. He squeezed her fingers and led her into the building.

It was bustling with activity. There was a man painting row after row of pots to the right of the door, and to the left, a woman was sewing some piece of clothing. She could hear the clatter and rattle of the loom. Half a dozen faces looked up as she entered.

As if asked, each of them laid down their tools and vanished out into the street. 

Kazuo did not seem to notice, leading her straight to the loom, where the man who was once the oni sat. He was focussed on his weaving, his hands moving in a blur. The expression on his face was one she remembered well, from the nights when he would bend over the fire and make it dance.

"Otosama," Kazuo said.

The man's hand continued to move for four more rows, then he laid down the shuttle and looked up. His eyes widened in surprise and he rose so quickly that he almost knocked his bench over. 

"Miko-sama," he said, bowing so low that he was near folded in half. "I-I did not expect you."

Kazuo giggled and darted away, leaving them standing alone.

Once, Michiko knew she would have been shy in the presence of a man, but this man, she had known in such secret and precious ways, she could not look away from him. There was colour across his cheeks and he folded his hands before him, uncertain, nervous, every gesture so familiar it made her ache with the memory.

"You have been writing to me," she finally said quietly.

He lowered his eyes, nodded. "I have, Miko-sama," he whispered.

She waited until he dared to raise his eyes once more. "Why?"

His tongue darted across his lower lip. "You were alone, Miko-sama," he said, his voice cautious. "I saw that so many left you alone, out of fear and respect." He met her eyes, holding her gaze. "No one should be alone, not when surrounded by so many."

Her throat felt tight. "You gave me words," she whispered.

"They said that before you departed, you wrote," he stammered. "I-I know my writing is clumsy, but I am only learning now. I did not need to write before." He bowed uncertainly. "If I have offended you, I am sorry, Miko-sama. I only wanted you to know that you are not feared by all."

Michiko stared at him, her eyes burning. He had learned to write simply so he could write to her. "You should not," she said, her voice trembling so much she could barely understand the words. "Your wife..."

His eyes widened, round in his face. "Wife? I do not have a wife."

The world trembled beneath her feet once more. "What?"

"I have no wife, Miko-sama," he said. "Kazuo-chan's mother died long ago."

She put out her hand, leaning against the loom. "The woman who was here," she said faintly. 

"We all live here, those who came together," he replied uncertainly. "We had no one but one another. There are close to twenty of us live here."

"Oh." She felt light-headed. "I must sit."

He caught her arm gently through her sleeve and helped her to the bench, guiding her to sit. He crouched down before her, searching her features. "Is this why you did not write anymore?" he asked quietly. "You thought I had a wife?"

"I thought you were not who I hoped you to be," she said, unable to keep herself from reaching out and touching his familiar face. He drew back, startled by such boldness from a woman, his eyes wide. She lowered her eyes, remembering the days when he would have leaned into the touch. "Forgive me." Her voice trembled. "I do not behave as I should."

He stared at her, and slowly nodded. "I will fetch you water," he said, rising, and circling the loom. 

He had a limp, she noticed, his right leg dragging. It was such a human frailty, so unlike the striding, powerful creature he had been. He knelt with care and drew out his chest from beneath the loom. It was as familiar as he was, and she looked away, blinking hard. 

He returned a moment later, crouching before her again and offered her a cup filled with cool water from the well. "It will help, Michiko-sama," he whispered.

She cradled the tiny cup in her hand and took a small mouthful, but the rim caught against her lip. 

She lowered the cup, staring at it.

It had a chip, barely noticeable.

Michiko raised her eyes from the cup to the man before her.

"You said my name," she breathed.

He nodded, his lips trembling in a smile. "I did, Michiko-sama," he said. He reached inside his shirt and drew out a tiny stone fox, tangled in red. "I promised I would find you."

She set the cup aside and touched his cheek again, and this time, he leaned into her palm as he had so many times before. "You remembered?"

His lips brushed against her fingertips. "Not until you touched me," he whispered. "Michiko-sama..."

She fell into his arms, burying her face in his shoulder. "Oni-sama," she whispered, holding him tightly. She was weeping again, but this time for joy. "I have missed you."

"And I you," he said softly, holding her close. "You promised me forever."

She laughed as she wept. "And you shall have it," she said.

“And no more leaves shall fall from the willow?” he asked, his hand brushing her cheek, sweeping the tears away.

She touched his face. “Only to rest upon the branches of the old pine,” she whispered.

He laid his brow to hers, holding her fast. “Good,” he breathed. “It is good.”

THE END


End file.
